


Monsters Behind Smiling Faces

by DraketheDragon



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: . . ., Angst, Ezekiel's op, Finally people talk, Finally plot comes in, Flo is a demon, Found Family, Gen, George is a dragon, Gosh this got dark, Holly's also a witch, Hurt/Comfort, I have no clue were this is going, I should probably add agnst, If you are here for emo lockwood, Jessica is BAMF, Kipps is a vampire, Lockwood's a werewolf, Lucy's a witch, Major Character Undeath, Major character death - Freeform, Marrissa is terrifying, Me looking at the pieces of something that was going to be slight against and fluff and crack, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Skull is still a ghost, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Supernatural universe but people don't believe in ghosts, What Have I Done, go somewhere else, he's a giant puppy trying and failing to be dignified, just kidding, so hold onto your hats, wait . . . does it count as major character death if someone died before the story started?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2020-04-24 15:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19175875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraketheDragon/pseuds/DraketheDragon
Summary: My name is Lucy Joan Carlyle. In theory, I’m a witch. In practice, I’m not. Witches have power, and I know this because, as the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter in an ancient line of witches, you would think I’d have more power then most. At least that’s what I’ve been told. All my sisters have power, and so does my mother. But for me, it’s not true. I can’t light a candle, I can’t summon a demon, I don’t have a familiar, I can’t raise the dead, I can’t do anything witchy. But what I can do is speak to ghosts.Which is almost impressive because ghosts don’t exist.





	1. I Hear Voices in My Head/They Are the Voices of the Dead

There’s a funny truth about monsters, they are never what they seem to be on the surface. You hear about the stereotypes, the hulking beasts, the mindless hunters, the ugly hags, and the creeping creatures. These are the ones shown in books and on the tv. These are the ones you’re wary about. These are the ones that scare you. But the truth is very different. The truth is that the worst monsters are the ones behind smiling masks. The most beautiful are the most dangerous. I learned this the hard way.

My name is Lucy Joan Carlyle. In theory, I’m a witch. In practice, I’m not. Witches have power, and I know this because, as the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter in an ancient line of witches, you would think I’d have more power then most. At least that’s what I’ve been told. All my sisters have power, and so does my mother. But for me, it’s not true. I can’t light a candle, I can’t summon a demon, I don’t have a familiar, I can’t raise the dead, I can’t do anything witchy. But what I can do is speak to ghosts.

Which is almost impressive because ghosts don’t exist.

Zombies, yes. Vampires, yes. But souls after the body has died and rotted away? No. The dead can’t rise unless it’s because the body is controlled by magic (hence necromancers) or if the body come back with the soul (aka: vampires). Ghosts don’t exist, they can’t exist. Which is why I’m a dud, because I see and speak to things that don’t exist. That's it. That's all. Absolutely useless. I’m a fluke, a waste, completely insane.

Or at least, that's what I used to think.

They’re funny things, ghosts. They fade quickly when you don’t give them enough attention, although I guess it depends on the strength of the ghost. I first knew this when my cat, who was supposed to be my familiar, died. Then I saw her spirit, but since ghosts don’t exist, I ignored her. And then she died again. It was like this for a long time, seeing people I knew were dead, then seeing them fade away. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized that I was not crazy, and that being sent to the mental hospital was not going to be a good thing.

A few months ago I met my best friend, his name is Skull. I carry him around in my bag, wrapped in bubble wrap, so his, well skull, doesn’t break. I dug him up in the meadows by my little village. He’s a ghost, a very needy one, because when I found him, he was dying of neglect. At first he was a wisp, but now he’s quiet stronger, because I talk to him a lot. Probably more than necessarily healthy.

He was the one who convinced me that ghosts are real.

He was the one who convinced me that I was not insane.

He was the one who convinced me that a mental hospital was not the place for a witch who could see things that supposedly didn’t exist. Which was why it was his fault that I was now homeless, in London, with limited supplies, standing in front of a corpse.

To top it all off, it was also my first night in London.

“ _Ohhhhh. A dead body! It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of those!”_ Skull sounded positively gleeful, hands clasped before him, a sardonic grin stretching impossibly wide across his face as he completely ignored the fact that he saw his own skull all the time. As always, he was slightly transparent, taller than me, and bone thin, with spiky hair and ragged clothes that were too small for him. He rushed over to the body and poked it. His face fell in disappointment. _“Humph he’s not dead. A shame, truly.”_

I broke out of my frozen state and grabbed for my phone, only to realize that I had left my phone at home so my parents couldn’t track me. “Oh gods above and demons below,” I breathed, then rushed over, bent beside the body and pressed my hands against one of the wounds. The person the body belonged to may of been human, or he may of been supernatural, but it was impossible to tell now. Too much blood, too many stab wounds. Too close to death.

 _“No use. He’s lost too much blood.”_ Skull shook his head, then brightened considerably. _“Hey we get to dispose of a body! It’s been ages since I’ve gotten to do a good old coverup!”_

“WHAT!?” I screeched. I could feel the change beneath my hands from living to no longer living. I gave up and started to wave my bloody hands in the air.

Skull ignored me, continuing on cheerfully. _“Do you think the murderer is still around? I would’ve scarpered already, but you never know, some idiots do like to hang about.”_

I could only stare at him. I knew what he was trying to do, but I would not allow it to work. “We are not hiding the body! We’re calling the police.”

Skull snorted. _“Ohh yeah, calling the police. With you covered in blood, and talking to thin air, and carrying around my skull. You know how they are. Witch, dead body, two plus two equals four. Great idea Lucy, your best idea to date! Truly sensational idea!”_

He was right, of course. Witches drew power from death, and it was easy to tell a witch from another supernatural or even a human. Something about the eyes or whatnot. I'd be locked up, which was the exact thing I was trying to avoid when I’d left home. “Well, we have to do something.”

 _“Like what? He’s dead. Game over. Now get going, someone might come and see you.”_ But the game was not over, not really, because something dead was stirring. It was in the coldness of the air, the pricking of my skin. Ghosts were always strongest closer to their bodies, and the ghosts of murder victims always violent. Got that from some human piece of literature I read. Something about kids fighting ghosts in a world that had no other supernatural creatures. Anyway, Skull kind of proved the point. He was both murder victim, and I was pretty sure, murderer.

Skull knew what I was going to do, he saw it in my face. He started walking around, gesticulating violently. _“She’s going to get caught talking to nothing, covered in blood, and be brought in. They're going to kill her, and then who will I have to talk to?”_ He said to the air, his voice almost plaintive, but ruined by the sarcastic edge.

I ignored him, even though he had a point. “Hello?” I asked softly, and the words hung in the air like an offered hand.

Something grasped that word, holding on to it like a lifeline. _“I’m dead.”_ Sad and confused and angry.

“I know.” I said, and Skull snorted rudely. “Who did this to you?”

A pause, the air didn’t dare to stir. My breath caught in my throat, my body frozen with the moment. _“Whelp that's that, he’s gone, now let's go and get the blood off you.”_ Skull’s voice startled me, his hands pulled at my sleeve. That was what had lead me to believe that I wasn’t going mad, that ability to move things. Unfortunately for Skull, the victim was not gone. I heard a description, faint, but understandable. Then the presence was gone, and I was alone except for Skull. He looked at me the narrowed eyes. _“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you.”_

I looked at myself. I was wearing black, and the blood didn’t show if you didn’t look at it too closely. I took out my water bottle and washed my hands the best I could. I kept my voice neutral as I asked, “Is there a payphone anywhere?”

 _“Yyyyyyyeeeeeessssss”_ He looked at me, an annoyed look on his face. _“I’m guessing an anonymous tip is in order?”_  He knew me so well, just as I knew his disappointed tone was really just an act. He didn’t care, one way or another.

I nodded, then followed him as he acted all dramatic and lead me to a payphone. I made my tip, sounding as panicked as possible, described the killer, and then hung up the phone and left. I felt better, having used my nonexistent abilities to help someone. Even if that person was dead, it felt good to be useful. Even Skull seemed cheerful, singing songs in a horrendous, off-tune voice, and speculating on the violent murders that might of happened in various houses. We bickered and laughed, and I had no fear of being seen because the streets were empty. Of course they were, many humans knew what types of things lurk in the dark. Only the idiots who refused to look didn’t.

Above our heads, the full moon shone, unobstructed by clouds, and watching our laughter.

We really should of known better.

Skull noticed first, stopping suddenly. _“Hey Lucy, do you think there’s a werewolf about?”_ His voice could almost be described as innocent, but Skull never said anything innocent without an ulterior motive.

“What, no. Honestly Skull, you get the weirdest theories.”

 _“Okay then.”_ He said in a singsong voice. I knew that voice. That was the voice he used right before things went bad. I stopped and started to look around. The streets were empty, alleyways gaped like black mouths. Cities are where many supernaturals gather, easier to make a pretense of hiding in a bigger population. There should of been something on the street, someone, a vampire at the very least. But there was nothing, and the full moon glowed above us.

Only idiots walked the streets on the full moon.

I slapped my forehead. “It’s behind us isn’t it.”

_“Yep, it’s smelled the blood on your clothes. And possibly my skull. Lucy, you can’t let it have my skull, I don’t want to be a chew toy for a werewolf!!”_

“Shut up, your overreacting.”

_“No I’m not! My skeleton got bit up by dogs before. Worst experience ever! He’ll crush my skull in his teeth after ripping out your throat and eating up your soft bits.”_

I looked at Skull, who was waving his hands in the air dramatically. “Thanks for that.” I said sarcastically. There was a sound behind us, a forlorn howl. I looked at Skull, he looked at me.

 _“You might want to run.”_ I knew good advice when I heard it, I turned and shot down one of the gaping alleyways. Skull kept up with me, running backwards, shouting obscenities and encouragements, phasing through objects. The end of the alley was in front of me, the wall like a tombstone. I didn’t stop to think, just jumped, the fingers of one hand grasped the top of the wall.

There was the sound of scrabbling paws, I looked and saw a wolf turning into the alley. A black coat, golden eyes, too big to be a dog or a real wolf. My fingers started to slip, the wolf crouched to jump, then cold hands were gripping mine and Skull was yanking  me over top of the wall and I collided with the ground on the other side. Skull phased out before I hit, letting me take the full brunt of the fall.

He capered in front of me his movements frantic, but his voice was as cutting as ever. _“Come ON slowpoke! Do you want to be dog food? Honestly, you would think that you want to be dead.”_

I got up, my shoulder and elbow ached, my knees were scraped, my head throbbed. From the other side of the wall there was an angry howl. Skull turned and moved, I followed him, keeping my eyes on his transparent form.

There was a thump, a yelp, I didn’t turn to look. My knee didn’t feel right, it wouldn’t take my weight. I fell, twisted to see black fur, glowing eyes, a gaping maw full of white teeth. I screamed, raised my arms to cover my face, and then something impacted, not with me, but with the wolf. I opened my eyes, saw a boy, pudgy, blond-haired, blue-eyed, glasses, and distressingly loose clothing sitting on the werewolf. The wolf struggled to get up, but couldn’t, as if the boy weighed more than his super strength could lift.

“Well then,” The boy said in a bland voice, adjusting his glasses. “This is an odd situation.”

 _“Lucy,”_ Skull whispered, his hands grasping at the sleeve of my jacket. _“We need to go. He’s supernatural, can’t you see? By the devil, you’re so blind.”_ But I couldn’t answer Skull, not with them there, and I couldn’t tell him to shut up. He would figure that out in a second, then start giving me creative ways to kill them. I got up slowly, but my vision swam when I did.

“Really, witch, why are you covered in blood?” The boys voice was still bland, like oatmeal before anything is added. I stopped trying to get up, and started scooting backwards. Skull helped, pulling at my clothes and muttering obscenities. The boy frowned at me. “What are you doing? You’re in no condition to move.” I continued to move backwards. “STOP MOVING!” The boy said, or roared, or something. It was loud and startling, and I froze. Even Skull stopped moving for a second, but whatever power the boy had, it did not extend to things that didn’t exist. He started pulling again.

What could I do? The boy was obviously powerful, and I had no power at all. Skull kicked me lightly. _“COME ON!”_ His scream was not as loud as the boy’s words, but it shook me out of my paralysis anyway. This time I managed to stand up, this time I managed to turn and run before the boy could say anything else. This time Skull helped me stay straight as I did so, even as the world tilted threateningly around me.

 

. . .

 

George Cubbins sat on a werewolf and stared after the girl as she ran. He didn’t try to roar again, she’d already broken through it once. How had she? Well, she was a witch, and you could never tell with witches. Although she had smelled odd for a witch. Less incense and candle wax and more bones and dirt. Still, she had the pentagram pupils, and only witches had pentagram pupils. Scientific fact.

He shook his head and looked down at the werewolf. “Really Lockwood, how did you get out?” Though in all honesty it wasn’t Lockwood he was talking to. The true Lockwood was buried under layers of instinct and fur.

Normally the full moon wouldn’t of been this bad, but Lockwood’s parents were traveling, and Jessica had left London to train. Something about getting ready to challenge the local alpha. This left Lockwood alone, without the support of his pack to keep him steady. After all, the Lockwoods were their own pack, separate from the London one, except for Jessica. She wanted to get in control of the London Pack, something about fixing it. George didn’t really follow pack affairs, so he wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Anyway, the point was that Lockwood had been left on his lonesome, a test of sorts to see how he could handle himself without supervision. So far, he was failing with flying colors.

George got up, but kept his fingers dug into Lockwood's scruff. The wolf twisted and growled, but could not break free of George’s grip. The pudgy boy sighed in annoyance. “Come on Lockwood, time to get you home and locked up. Tomorrow we’ll find the witch and apologize or something, but for now you get a cage.”

The wolf whined, but didn’t stop himself from being yanked around as George hopped over the wall and headed towards 35 Portland Row.

 

. . .

 

I wasn’t sure how long we had run for, but eventually, when my vision was fading in and out, Skull stopped and dragged me to a halt. _“By the demons! You’re soooooo unfit.”_

“Shut up.” I panted. “You’re dead.”

He patted my shoulder. _“Stay here a bit, why don’t you? Catch your breath? Try not to pass out.”_ I swore and made a swipe at him, but he was already phasing into a building. A few minutes later, a door opened up and Skull stood there waving. _“Lllluuuucccyyyy!”_ He sang, _“You’ll never guess what I found!”_ His grin was positively maniacal, and he was singing the words. Band news for me.

“Monster hunting store?” I said. Technically they were illegal, but many people were afraid, and many officers could be persuaded to look away. I headed in his direction.

 _“Lucky guess.”_ he grumbled as I passed him into the store. It was a dim place, with rows of guns near the back, and a glass counter full of knives. There were shelves full of sunglasses, the wraparound kind, and heavy duty belts designed to have all kinds of dangerous extras added on. There was also a giant mirror in the back. Skull drifted over to the guns. _“Silver bullets.”_ He moved over to the knives. _“Silver coated blades and stakes in the bottom shelf.”_  He dangled a bunch of keys and got to work. _“We need something to help keep you safe.”_

I walked over to the sunglasses, picked a pair, pulled off the tag, and slipped them on.The world went even shadowier, but at least my eyes could not be seen. I moved over the belts and started to finger through them. “I’m supposed to be a witch remember?” I said dryly. “I was taught magic, not weapons. I assume the alarms are off?” I pulled out one off the belts. Black and soft leather and made to look worn. I slipped off my skirt and put the belt on after peeling off the tag. I still had my leggings to keep me decent, and Skull was dead.

 _“Stuck my hand through some important looking electrical stuff and materialized. Short circuited the whole system.”_ He was way too gleeful. _“I never learned how to shoot, but I can teach you how to knife fight._ ” His voice had gone sing-song again. He tossed me a knife that had a silver sheen and one of the seethes. I attached it to my new belt, slipped the knife in it, and pulled on the skit. It sat higher on my waist then I was used too, but it would work.

“Can you see the knife?” I asked.

Skull turned to me and started to clap gleefully. _“Awwwww!!!! Your carrying a concealed weapon!!! I’ll have you killing people in no time!!!”_ He gave me an exaggerated frown and tossed a stake at me. _“How you going to pull it, though.”_

I hiked up my skirt, pulled the knife, cut a slit in the fabric of the skirt. After a few tries I could draw it without the knife tangling in the fabric. I stuck the stake into the pocket of my jacket. “Got any pepper spray in here?”

 _“Pepper spray?”_ Skull asked, his voice sly and devious.

“That stuff is potent on humans. Imagine what it’s like for people with heightened senses.”

His grin was skeletal. _“Why yes, I do carry pepper spray.”_ He rummaged around a bit and found a can, then tossed it toward me. I caught it and tucked it into another pocket. I limped over to the mirror and looked at myself. My jacket and leggings were ripped, my knees bloodied, and my head had a giant bump. My skin was sallow, my cheeks hollow, and when I pushed my glasses up, there were bags under my eyes. Still, there was something stronger about me then the girl I had been a few months ago.

Skull crept up behind me and started pulling faces, each worse than the last. I rolled my eyes, shook my head (making it swim) and turned towards the door. “Time to go.”

_ “I see how it is. If you want to admire yourself in the mirror, that's fine. But if I want to admire myself in the mirror, that's a waste of time. This is a prime example of skullism!” _

I ignored him.

_“Just a second.”_ There was a sound like a hurricane, then the knives and guns and bullet cases and stakes went flying and crashing into the windows and spilling into the streets. _“That's better. An improvement really.”_

I adjusted my glasses. “Unnecessary.” I said, but I was smiling. I turned and left the building, Skull following behind me. I got maybe two, three steps, before all my aches and pains (shoulder, knees, head, elbow) burst into a blinding flash off pain. Then I was falling swiftly into darkness, with Skull’s swearing to accompany my descent.


	2. I Listen to Songs That Have Been Sung/Sung By the Moon in the Skies Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockwood and George try to find a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All werewolves are attention needy puppy dogs and that is the hill I'll die on.  
> Also I have found an awesome Skull song. It's call Nobody Wants to Be Alone (feat. Atrel) by Christian Reindi. Gives me so many Skull vibes!

George stood outside the barricaded door, listening to the crack of bone as Lockwood shifted with the sun. In his hands, he held Lockwood’s clothes. George was of the opinion that Lockwood was too picky with his clothing, tight suits where hard to shift in, and most shifters went about in clothing that could be discarded quickly. Lockwood was of the opinion that George had no sense of style, and tried to keep his too-tight suits from George’s hands as often as possible. As if it was possible that George’s sense of style could be imprinted in the cloth.

Unfortunately for Lockwood, George couldn’t leave his clothes in with him in the few hours it took for the sun to rise. Lockwood might like wearing his fancy too-tight suits, but Lockwood’s wolf liked the sound the expensive fabric of those too-tight suits made when ripped into itty bitty pieces. 

Which left George standing outside the room holding Lockwood’s clothes and resisting the urge to switch them out for something more reasonable.

His listened as Lockwood's whimpers went from wolfish to human, tapping his foot to the beat of Lockwood’s elevated heart rate. Shifts always hurt, more so without a pack to be there through the pain. He heard Lockwood lay there and pant, heard him get up and stagger to the door, heard the multiple deadbolts slide open and the door swing wide, giving him a view of a very naked Lockwood. Not that Lockwood cared, or George for that matter, most shifters weren’t bothered by nudity. “Give me my bloody clothes George. Heaven knows what your presence might do to them.”

“Make them more sensible. My advice is to not put them on too quick. They might rip. And definitely forget the socks, you put them on and your pants will give up their pitiful existence.”

“Don’t listen to him, your a fine suit that won’t rip on me.” He dressed quickly, supernatural speed and supernatural grace preventing him from getting tangled up. He slowed once he put the waistcoat on, fingers gliding over buttons.

“You do know what you have to do right?”

Lockwood paused and flicked his amber eyes at George, who stood there in his baggy clothes, face as expressionless as ever. “Yes I do. We need to find that poor girl I attacked and apologize for my terrible behavior. We also need to make sure I didn’t hurt her too badly., and offer to pay the hospital bill if needed.”

“Ahh, you remember that, do you?” George adjusted his glasses. “Thought you wouldn’t remember anything but the moon-madness.”

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” A slight wine had entered Lockwood’s voice, and he struggled his jacket on with and air of puppy sulk.

Werewolves were attention needy creatures, but George still waited until Lockwood had finished putting on his coat before patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll give you a pass. She smelled of death and blood, if I’d been moon-mad, I would have chased her.”

Lockwood gave George on of his brilliant, luminous smiles. “Oh good. Do you remember the place we ran into her?”

“Yeah.” George turned and started up the spiraling stairs to the kitchen. “Funny thing though, she may of smelled like blood and death, but she had witch eyes.”

“Do you think she’s a blood witch?” There was a darkness in Lockwood’s voice, one George agreed with entirely. Blood witches were creatures that boosted their magic with pain and violence and death. They were one of the reasons that the supernatural community weren’t officially public yet.

George continued through the house as he thought, but it wasn’t until he opened the front door of 35 Portland Row that he answered. “I don’t think so. She only smelled of blood and death, none of the other things that witches smell like. No incense or sulfur or any of that getup. She was also pretty young, our age I think.”

“I heard,” Lockwood said in a stage whisper, “That blood witches can steel the youth out of their victims, so they can be two hundred years old and still look twenty.”

George snorted. “Superstitious mumbo jumbo. Next thing you’ll be saying is that ghosts are real.”

 

. . .

 

They found the alley, and both hopped the wall with ease. George looked around, breathing deeply, filtering through the scents. It was a confusing mess of blood and death, fear and sweat, bone and dust and dirt, and something almost there that he couldn’t quite catch the scent of. “Lockwood, do you smell that?” No answer. “Lockwood?”

Lockwood, who had been standing and staring at the wall in confusion, said. “I remember the chase and the attack, but it's like a dream, and some things don’t make sense.”

George shuffled over and stared at the wall as well. It stubbornly refused to give up whatever secrets it had and remained a wall. “Like what?”

“Well, it may of been my imagination, but when she got over the wall, it kinda looked like someone had pulled her over.”

“I wasn’t there for that part.”

“But there was nobody else but her.”

“Yep.”

“No other sent.”

“Yep.”

“No other heartbeat.”

“Yep.”

“So I’m just imagining things.”

“Yep.”

“You’re sooooo helpful.”

“Thanks, I try. Now, do you smell anything strange?”   
Lockwood sniffed. “No, not anything that's out of place beside the smell of bone.”

“Huh, for a second I thought I smelled something.” It was probably nothing, after all, Lockwood had a better sense of smell than him.

“What did you think you had smelled?” Lockwood crouched low to the ground, still sniffing. 

“Ohhh, careful there, your pants almost gave up. I don’t know, it was familiar, but I can’t place it.”

Lockwood shrugged. “Probably your mind playing tricks on you then. I caught her sent, come on.” He started off, long legs covering the ground quickly, and after a few seconds, George followed him.

The scent trail was erratic, stumbling from one side from the alley to the other. Occasionally, a boot print could be seen in the muck, scuffed and smeared as if the owner had been running from something. They tracked the witch down a couple of more alleys, and onto a main street. In front of them a bunch of people clogged the street like grease in a drain. George grabbed Lockwood’s arm before the wolf could run into the crowd. “Smell that?”   
“What, huh?” Lockwood stopped, then took a deep breath. “Ohh yeah. Silver, gunpowder, wood. This was a weapons shop.” A little quieter, he added, “One that sold weapons to kill supernaturals.” He adjusted his collar, strode forward, tapped an old woman on the shoulder and gave her a wide grin. “Excuse me ma’am, but could you tell me what happened?”

The woman looked up at Lockwood and gave him a feeble smile. “Oh, it's no problem. It’s nice to see some people being polite to their elders. Now dear, something exploded in the old weapons shop. Blew all the glass right out of the windows, and half the store’s wares as well. Someone closer to the front saw silver bullets, and the police think it’s for hunting . . .  Them.” The old woman looked around nervously, then focused on Lockwood again. “Do you think it was Them who did it?”

Lockwood gave her a reassuring smile. “Probably not. They are too busy pretending we don’t know They exist.”

The old lady nodded. “Can you imagine if They revealed Themselves to the public? The trouble it would cause!”

“Yes, I can imagine. Thank you for the information ma’am.”

“You’re very welcome.” 

The old woman turned back to the crowd and Lockwood stepped back towards George. They moved slightly away from the gathering, and stepped back onto the sidewalk. Lockwood leaned close, “That shop is exactly why we need to go public-”

“Officially public.”

“Yes, officially public. Do you think the witch did this?”

“It is possible. But one thing I can tell you is that it will be impossible to find her sent in the crowd, we could circle around and see if we can find it again on the other side, but it’s not likely.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll circle around, see if we can catch the scent on the other side. If not, we’ll go back home and call the local pack, alert them to the possibility of a blood witch. Then she won’t be our problem any more.”

They did, in fact, get lucky, about halfway around the crowd, where you could see glimpses of the empty sockets were windows should of been in the shop, they caught the sent again. It trailed into another alley, and there were scuff marks along the ground, as if a body had been dragged. George and Lockwood exchanged glances, looked at the human gathering, and then slipped into alleyway after the smell.

This alley did end abruptly. Not a wall this time, but a house. There were dumpsters gathered in one corner, a fire escape sagged on the side of one of the buildings, the ground beneath them was pitted and cracked. There was no witch, and no body. Lockwood scratched his head. “Where could she have gone? The scent ends here.” He looked around in confusion after sending a nervous glance at the people in the street.

“Well,” George said, adjusting his glasses, “I would say that we have a very clever witch.”

Lockwood stared at him. “What are you going on about now?” George pointed a finger up, Lockwood twisted around and tilted his head. “I don’t . . . Oh.” Above the fire escape, a booted foot hung limply from the roof. Lockwood swallowed. “Good eyes, George.”

“Thank you, they’re my best feature.”

“I’ll go first, so I won’t fall if the contraption crumples under your weight.” George snorted loudly, but Lockwood ignored him and stepped onto the fire escape. The dark metal had blooms of rust on it, and some of the steps were cracked and thin, the whole thing creaked under the werewolf’s weight. “You might want to be careful.” Then he rushed up the stairs, long legs taking the steps two at a time, his speed making it look like he was flying. Behind him, the whole thing groaned as it threatened to collapse. He landed softly on the roof, staring down with wide amber eyes as the steps shook. 

“Yeah, I’ll be extra careful.” George muttered as he made his way more slowly up the precarious fire escape. He poked his head above the roof to see Lockwood kneeling at the girls side, fingers placed gently on her neck. “What are you doing, you idiot?”

“Checking her pulse.”

“Why? You can literally hear her heart beating.” George hissed the words at Lockwood as he pulled himself up. Finally he stood on the other side of the girl. She looked worse then she had when he had last seen her, her clothes ripped and torn, there were pieces of glass stuck in the bottoms of her thick soled boots, blood coated on one side of her face, and her backpack was worn and frayed. She looked as if she had crawled onto the roof and then collapsed. Beside her, tucked into the crook of one arm, was a dirty messenger bag, flap open just enough to see something white and grimy inside. “Looks like she was the one who blew up the store.”

Lockwood pulled his fingers back from her neck, mind still on the pulse thing. “It's what they do on all those crime shows.”   
“Those are human shows Lockwood! Human!” He bent over and flipped open the bag’s flap. George’s voice went much quieter. “Looks like we aren’t taking her to the hospital.”

Lockwood picked up the object in his hands. “It’s a skull. A really old skull.” He sniffed it. “It might be human, but if it was it no longer smells like it.” He sniffed it again. “Doesn’t smell of witchy rituals either. Could it be a focus?”

George took the skull back before Lockwood could do anything else with it. Bone, wolf, didn’t take a genius to figure out what might happen next. He placed it back into the bag and said, “We need to call Holly. She’s the expert on witches.”

Lockwood patted his pockets. “Do I even have my phone with me? Wait, no, I left it at home.”

George tossed him his phone, and Lockwood caught it easily. “Call her on mine.” He started to rifle through the girl’s pockets, then took her backpack and started to look through that. No identification, but the backpack had two other pairs of clothes in it, trail mix and energy bars, a water bottle, and cash. There was nothing in her jacket pockets except a pair of sunglasses. He could here Lockwood on the phone.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey Holls. It's Lockwood, I’m using George’s phone.”

“Oh, Lockwood, good morning. What did you do this time?”

“Nothing, I didn’t do anything! I have just called to ask for your expertise, and your particular abilities. We have an injured witch, who might happen to be a blood witch. But we aren't sure.”   
“A blood witch? Where do you need me?”

“At my house as soon as possible. Bye.”

“Bye.”

George whipped his head around, but it was too late. “Portland Row? Are you crazy!”

Lockwood closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket. “What are you talking about?”

George gestured at the witch. “We have an unconscious witch and a crowd of people on the street. How are we going to get to Portland Row without getting arrested?”

Lockwood gave a wide, luminous smile. His canines had lengthened slightly, his teeth where too white, and his eyes glowed with the thought of a horrible idea. “Why that’s easy George, you’re going to take us.”

 

. . .

 

A long time ago, sometime during the middle ages when supernatural creatures had been believed in and hunted down, dragons formed the ability to fold their massive bulk into a human shape. At first this disguise was faulty, horns poked out, claws on the fingers, scales on the skin. However, after centuries of using this skill, it became impossible to tell a dragon from a human. This ability to disguise themselves this way is very useful in modern day London, and in modern day London, shifting to dragon form is generally not allowed. There was too great a risk of being captured on camera, and collapsing whatever building the dragon shifted on. 

There were a few other evolutionary quirks nowadays as well. Most dragon’s scales were mirror like and reflected the environment, scales were almost never solid colors anymore. They were also built on a smaller scale then they used to be. Finally, they no longer hoarded gold. Instead, they hoarded common place items like books or dice.

Still, they had scales, wings, claws, breathed fire, and were larger than the average school bus. So nobody really messed with them.

Except, apparently, juvenile werewolves with mysterious persuasive abilities.

George landed in the garden of 35 Portland Row with an audible thump. He winced when he heard the sound. If his mum found out that he shifted in, and then flew over central London, she would skin him alive. He hunkered down as close as possible to the ground and extended a wing for Lockwood, who had the messenger bag slung over his shoulder and was carrying the witch bridal style, to slide down it with cheer. When he’d heard the werewolf land, he pulled his wings close. A few bone breaking minutes later, he lay on the ground, human and naked. He felt a blanket being dropped on him. “Oww. That's still sensitive.”

“Sorry. Lockwood took your clothes inside, and is taking the witch girl upstairs.”

George looked. “Ok, thanks Holls. Lend me a hand up will you?”

She reached down and helped pull him to his feet. George gathered the blanket to his waist and shuffled inside, Holly following behind him.  Lockwood was at the kitchen table, leaning on a folded set of clothing. A folded set of clothing that looked suspiciously presentable. “She’s in the attic room.”

Holly nodded decisively, her black hair bobbing with her head. She hefted a bag onto her shoulder and headed up the stairs, confidence in every step. George pointed to the clothes on the table as soon as she had disappeared from view. “Those aren’t mine.”

Lockwood smiled. “Of course they are, I found them in your room.”

“I can say with reasonable certainty that I do not have a pair of jeans that have been ironed. Ever.”

“Well . . . they are your size.”

“I’m not wearing them.”

“Yes you are.”

George sat down. “No I’m not. I’m going to sit here and wear a blanket until you get me actually clothes.”

“These are actual clothes.”

“No they are not! They are so not!”

“If you are saying that actual clothes in them are two sizes two big and have holes, then these aren’t actual clothes. These are respectable clothes that will actually fit!”

“If they fit by your standards they’ll strangle me to death!”

“No, they will not!”

“Yes, they will!”

“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP! I CAN HEAR YOU FROM ALL THE WAY UP HERE! I NEED PEACE AND QUIET TO CONCENTRATE!”

Lockwood looked at George, and in a quieter tone, he said, “So? We could hear her. She didn’t have to yell.”

George tapped his ear. “You forget, witches have deaf human ears.”

“Oh, yeah.”

They settled in, George reading one of his comics, Lockwood doing a crossword in a newspaper. They listened as the sound of soft chanting filled the air, and the smell of incense flooded the house. Thirty minutes later, Holly stumbled down the steps, fingers gripping her bag in a white knuckled grip. She ignored George, who still lounged in the blanket and nothing else, and pulled out a seat at the table.

Lockwood jumped up. “Holly! Are you ok? Do you need some tea?” George flipped a page of his comic idally.

Holly placed her bag on the floor, and placed her hands on the table. “Yes, please. I’ll be fine, just drained. The healing took more out of me than expected.”

Lockwood pattered around with kitchenware. “Well, tell all.”

“The good news is that she isn’t a blood witch, her aura was wrong for that. The bad news is my healing may not fully take.”

George stopped reading his comic and stared at Holly, mouth agape. “What?! I thought a Munro healing always took.”

“Normally, that is the case.” She stared at her hands and fidgeted slightly. Her aura of calm competence was gone, leaving her tired and woozy. “But that is when the witch has magic of their own, in speeds the process along, helps things go correctly.”

“You’re saying, that our witch has no power.” Lockwood’s voice had gone uncertain.

“Yes, that is what I’m saying. Or that she has so little it doesn’t matter. It’s often seen in second children, and the magic that goes into the first child has yet to build up to any significant amount to pass down to the second.”

“Oh.”

“Lockwood, I think you should watch out.”

“What for?”   
Holly stood abruptly and picked up her bag. Her chair went skidding along the floor. “Witch families are extremely close knitted. No member, especially one as young as her, goes somewhere without another watching their back. Especially with the clan warfare that is common between most witch families. Yet she’s here, obviously a run away, all alone.”

Lockwood set the teaset on the table. “What are you saying Holly?”

“I’m saying, that if she’s here alone, something horrible must have happened. I need to get home immediately and see if I have heard any news of a witch clan being wiped out. Save the third cup for the girl when she wakes up, it will help keep her strong. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you all later.”

She left in a swirl of lavender scent and rushing skirts, and in her wake, the radio turned on. It crackled, and then an announcers voice could be heard. “-stabbed twelve times. An anonymous tip lead to the discovery of the murderer, who was caught just before he could claim his second victim-” With a squeal, the radio died.

George reached up to grab his glasses, but froze when he remembered that he had never put them back on. He slowly placed his hands on his lap again. “I just realized,” he said slowly, “we forgot to ask about the skull.”

. . .

 

Half a city away, on the top floor of a tall building, in a shadowy office room, a figure listened to the news broadcast. They reached out and clicked their radio off, and stretched in a leisurely cat-like way. Solid black orbs stared out the window, towards the lights of the city below. “Old friend, look into this. I have a very good feeling.”


	3. I See People In My Mind/ They Are the Ones Who Have Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy wakes up, Lockwood's a dork, and George is done.

There was something wrong when I woke up, I knew this because I didn’t remember passing out in a room. I remembered a shop with sunglasses and windows with broken glass. I remembered the pain in my arm and my knee refusing to work properly. I remembered the pain in my head, the feel of blood as it started to trickle down my skin. But I was no longer in the street in front of a shop with broken windows, I was in a room.

That was when panic set in.

I froze beneath the sheets, fingers clawing, heart stuttering. If I was in a room that meant my parents had found me. But why? I was out of their hair! No longer a problem! I should of been fine! But I was here, and not there, so they must have looked, and they must of taken me back.

I lay very still, tried to regulate my breathing. Someone would be outside the door, waiting to see if I woke up. I needed to pretend to sleep,  I needed to figure out how to get out, to get out and avoid detection. Somewhere through the panic, things started to filter through. The feel of sunlight on my face, the softness of the sheets, the shape of the pillow under my head. Wrong. All wrong. My room had no windows, the sheets were scratchy and rough, the pillow was lumpy and hard.  

But my room kinda smelled like this room, like dust and unused things. 

_ “Lucy! You’re awake!”  _ A voice, Skull’s horrid, scratchy voice. I jerked up, twisted to where the widow was sending in large streams of golden light. It was hard to see him, through the glare, his form was indistinct. He looked towards me, and his face had an odd expression on it. Then the expression disappeared and his sardonic grin began to stretch across his face.

“Skull.” I breathed.

He flowed towards me and stopped near the bed, a finger to his lips.  _ “Shhhh. They’ll hear you.” _

I lowered my voice as far it could go. “Where am I? What happened?”

His eyes were chips of light in dark sockets, his face was more skeletal then normal, I could see the bones beneath the skin.  _ “After you passed out, I dragged you into an alley, up a flight of stairs, and onto a roof. Do you know how hard that was? You're so heavy!”  _  There were footsteps outside the room, they sounded like they were careening up a flight of stairs in some dangerous manner.  _ “The rest you’ll learn so enough.”   _ He drifted closer, his fingers settled on my shoulder. _ “They think you’re a second child. They think you’re family is dead. It’s a good story to stick with.” _

Something hit the door with a sharp bang. I jumped, squeaked, Skull’s fingers crushed my shoulder with their cold grip. A voice came from the other side of the door. “Owwwwww. My nose.”

“Oh stop complaining, it will heal. Besides, it’s your fault for running up the stairs like a mad man.”

The knob on the door shook, then the door swung open wide. A boy my age strode in with an almost elegant walk that was slightly predatory. His eyes were amber and his dark hair was mused and he wore a too-tight suite. His nose was red and had a slightly squashed look about it. Another boy followed him. I remembered him, he had lost his glasses and was now wearing a blanket as a toga, but he was still recognizable. The boy who sat on the werewolf. Which meant the dark-haired boy had to be the werewolf.

I jerked back, my breath came in short panicked gasps, in my ear, Skull growled. A low, angry growl. It didn’t sound like it could come from a human throat. “Stay away from me!” My voice was high and shrill, I shuffled back, my feet tangled in the blanket, nearly fell off the bed. Skull’s fingers dug into my shoulder and steadied me.

The boy with dark hair stopped suddenly, frozen in his movement. Gently he finished his step, raised his hands in an offer of peace, his amber eyes glittered. He shifted down, smiled gently. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. And,” a sheepish grin, “I’m sorry about last night.” There was something about that grin that turned him from dangerous predator to just a kid who excluded boyish charm.

The other boy leaned against the door frame, his face was bland, unreadable. “Moon madness, gets the best of them. He won’t do it again.”

I nodded, untangled my legs, but stayed tensed and ready to move. Skull let go of my shoulder, drifted over to stand between the two boys.  _ “It might be a good idea to stay with these kids for a while. See what food and supplies you could snitch off of them.” _

He had a point. “Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?” I made the questions as panicked as possible, though inwardly I was calming down. Skull had my back.

The werewolf, who still crouched, hands outstretched, smiled fully. I could feel my own lips pull up in response. I froze, wondering why I was smiling. Anger helped me strangle the smile and push it down deep. “My name,” the boy said, “Is Antony Lockwood, but everyone calls me Lockwood. My friend here,” he waved towards the other boy, “Is George Cubbins. You are at my house, 35 Portland Row. We set out to apologize for attacking you, and found you unconscious on top of a building. We brought you here, and called our witch friend Holly Munroe to heal yo-”

“You did what?!” I screeched, panic filled every limb of my body, I jerked back like they had fainted at me with a burning branch. “You realize she could have killed me! Witch families are always fighting each other! She could ha-”

The boy named George cut me off. “No, Holly wouldn’t do such a thing. The Munroe clan is the only healer clan in London, they’re exempt from the family squabbles.” Skull started to walk around, waving his hands around and mimicking George in a horrible off key voice. He seemed way too calm about this whole situation, but then again, he was dead, so he didn’t have much to lose.

I couldn’t help but think that squabbles was and understatement to describe the conflict between witch clans. Backstabbing warfare was more like it. “Oh,” I breathed out, letting my body go limp, “That's okay then.” I’d never heard of the Munroe clan, but healers were rare, it made sense that they wouldn’t participate in the power plays.

Lockwood smiled at me, then his grin faltered. “I have to ask, whatever you’re running from, it won’t trouble us, right? I need my pack to be safe.” There was something dangerous in his voice.

“No, it won’t.” It shouldn’t, they wouldn’t come for me. They had no reason to come for me. Behind Lockwood, Skull was making faces at George, putting his fingers over his eyes and mimicking the round glasses that had been on George’s face the last time he’d seen him.

Lockwood smiled again, wide and blazing. And this time I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face in return. “Well then, we have tea down stairs if you would follow us.” He jumped up, too far, hit his head against the ceiling, and fell onto his back. George rolled his eyes, I broke into a small snigger.

Skull nearly fell over laughing.

 

. . .

 

Lockwood bounded down the steps, behind him, the witch’s footsteps were slightly unsteady, but she didn’t fall. He heard George split off to his room, probably to get actual clothes. So Lockwood was left to deal with the witch alone. He wasn’t sure about this witch, she reminded him of a rabbit, or a cat easily startled by noises, and she had none of the calm composure that Holly had. He liked her scent better though, even though it was tainted with the bitter traces of fear and anger. There was no scent of incense, or the itchy sent of magic, he liked the scent of earth and sweat, it made her more approachable.

And he was very curious about the skull in the bag, which even now she carried. She had grabbed it as she left the room, gripped the strap with white fingers. He was very curious. And the scent of bone brought saliva to his mouth.

The scent distracted him, his toe caught on the next step, he stumbled to keep himself from falling. He tumbled down a couple of steps before managing to grab onto the rail. There was a sharp bloom of anger in the witch’s scent, he half turned to see her gripping the bag’s flap hard, fabric screwed tight between fingers. She was scowling, but it didn’t look like the scowl was directed at him.

“I’m alright, thanks for asking.” Lockwood flashed a smile at her. “There’s no reason to get annoyed at the stairs.”

The witch’s grip loosened, her scowl softened. “Oh, okay then.” She stood there, not moving, Lockwood closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. 

It was a very nice scent.

“Um, you said there was tea?” There was an edge to her voice like she had added sharper words in her mind, the anger was back in her scent, and her eyes burned. Pentacle pupils, with a brown iris, Holly had eyes like those too, but this witch’s were darker, almost black.

Lockwood blinked. “Ohh yeah, sorry.” He gestured vaguely at his head. “The wolf likes smelling things, and you’re a new scent.” He turned continued on to the kitchen.

He could feel her glare on her back, but she didn’t comment on the smell thing. Not many people knew what to say. After a moment's pause, she spoke again. “So, what’s this stuff on the walls?” Her voice had an odd tone to it, as if she was repeating a question.

“Ohh, all this stuff? Nick knacks from other cultures all over the world. My parents study the differences between supernatural creatures in different areas. Like in Europe, dragons tend to have four legs and two wings, but in Asia, they have no wings and have antlers. If you continue further north, dragons only have one pair of legs, and in South America, dragons are feathered serpents. Its all really fascinating.”

“Really? Where are they now?”

“North America, comparing the shifters on this continent to the shifters on that one.” They’d made it to the kitchen, Lockwood picked up one of the cups and turned around to see the witch studying one of the photographs on the walls. It had been taken in Africa, his Mom and Dad leaned on each other and smiled, one hand each on the shoulders of Jessica. His sister was holding a tiny, struggling Lockwood around the waist. She wore a strained smile and her amber eyes betrayed her annoyance of having to hold the excitable puppy. He didn’t remember much from that trip, just a whirlwind of smells and sights. “That’s my sister Jessica, she’s training to challenge Steve Rotwell, and takeover the local pack.” He couldn’t stop the pride that filled his voice, Jessica was fierce, and if there was anyone who could control the London Pack, it was her.

“Oh,” there was a slight trace of wistfulness in her voice. “So you’re close then?”

Lockwood beamed as he handed her the cup, “Of course, why wouldn’t we be? We’re pack after all!” He paused, stopped himself from saying she should know about family bonds. “You know, I haven’t got your name.” 

The witch blinked, took a sip of tea. “Lucy. Lucy Carlyle.”

“I haven't heard of a witch clan named Carlyle.” George’s voice was noncommittal, he stood at the entrance of the kitchen in a fresh pair of baggy jeans and tee shirt. Lucy jumped, hand flying toward her waist like it had been yanked. Lockwood, who had heard George’s footsteps on the stairs, winced. Those clothes, they were so bad! They would of been bad even if they had fit!

“George, really? We have a guest and you wear that?”

“Yes, which reminds me.” He pushed past Lucy, who had that wild eyed wary look back in her eyes, and grabbed the folded clothes on the table. With great deliberation, he picked them up then dumped them into the trash can. He wiped his hands together, then grabbed his glasses and shoved them onto his face. “There.”

“George, was that really necessary?”

“I could have worn those.” Lucy was staring at the trash can with a vaguely haunted look. 

Lockwood frowned. “They wouldn't have fit you.”

“I have enough skill with a needle to do alterations.”

“Besides, you won’t need them. We can but you new clothes.” There was a stunned pause, Lockwood realized what he’d just said. “For as long as you stay of course.”

“LOCKWOOD!” George’s voice actually veered away from his normal monotone and twisted into something shriller.

“What.” Lockwood had the sinking feeling that he knew what made George’s voice spiral out of control like that.

“We need to talk.” He marched over, grabbed Lockwood by the arm, and dragged him out of the room. George marched Lockwood all the way over to Lockwood’s room, shoved the werewolf inside, and shut the door. Lockwood stumbled forward and fell face first on the bed.

“Oww.”

“I know what you’re trying to do.” George hissed. “It’s not a good idea.”

Lockwood pushed himself up, turned to look at his friend. “What am I trying to do?”

“Witches are only loyal to their clan. No one else.”

“She’s all alone, she has no one. We can at least offer her a home for a few nights.”

George took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. His blue eyes glittered dangerously. “And a few days will become a few weeks and then you’ll start claiming her as pack. She’s a witch, she can’t be trusted.”

“We trust Holly!”

“Only because Holly is a Munroe, they are the only trustworthy clan. She can't stay here.”

Lockwood could feel his growl building up in his chest. “She has no one. Her family is dead. She has no home and limited supplies. You of all people should know what that’s like. She shouldn’t be left to fend for herself. Besides, in the absence of my parents and sister, this is my house, and we have plenty of room. So I say she stays.”

George opened his mouth, then closed it again. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Fine.” He raised a finger. “But a trial period only. If she doesn’t steal from us or knife us in our sleep in a week, then she can stay.” He raised a second finger. “But you have to remember that she might bring trouble with her. She says she won’t, but I’m not convinced.” He raised a third finger. “You must also remember that she might not want to stay.” He raised his fourth finger. “You must also take into account what your parents might say once they come back, so no getting attached.”

Lockwood breathed out, sat down. “Yay, okay. Sorry for snapping, it's just,” he waved his arms around, “with the full moon and my family scattered, my wolf’s attempting to collect people around us. Keep the edge of the loneliness off.”

George sighed as well. “I know, though I don’t understand. Come on, let's talk to our new possible tenant.”

 

. . .

 

The minute George dragged Lockwood out of the kitchen, I was at the trashcan, pulling at the clothing and stuffing it into my bag. Skull, who had been nattering on about the usefulness of good fabric, broke off to cry  _ “Hey! Not with my head!” _

“We’ll need a needle and thread if I’m going to use this.” I hissed at him, not pointing out the fact that it would be extra protection for his skull. I fumbled with the flap of the bag, grabbed the tea cup from where I had placed it on the counter. The liquid was lukewarm on my tongue, but the taste steadied me. It was good quality, better than any I had tasted. From the direction to my left, I could hear raised voices. “You shouldn’t of pushed Lockwood down the stairs.”

_ “He shouldn’t of manhandled my skull.”  _ Skull poked his head into one of the cabinets, literally, he didn’t bother opening the door. He whistled, a shrill, piercing sound.  _ “Nnniiiiccceee. Good quality food here, although there is an overabundance of junk food. A lot of donuts and chips, and I mean a lot.” _

I drained my cup of tea. “Quick,” I murmured, “What are they talking about.”

Skull pulled his head out of the cabinet. He made one of his horrible extravagant faces, split with his wide skeletal grin.  _ “Doesn’t affect me, I’m dead.” _

I opened my mouth to swear at him, but Lockwood and George barged in. I started, nearly dropped my cup, but I managed to tighten my grip. I needed to calm down, otherwise I was going to have a heart attack. Lockwood grinned at me, a wide grin full of white teeth. “Good news! We talked it over and you’re staying!”

Before I could yelp my surprise and confusion, George broke in. “What he means is, we are willing to offer you a place to stay for a week, and maybe longer if everything works out.” He took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and sent a glare in Lockwood’s direction.

Many feelings welled up in my stomach, gratitude, worry, relief. My eyes met Skull’s, who had drifted behind Lockwood, fingers pulling his cheeks back so all his teeth could be seen. Horror shot through me, washing all the other emotions away. Yes, this would solve many problems, shelter, food. It was all my problems given solutions with a nice bow tie, except one. My ability to see ghosts, to hear them, to converse with them. 

If they heard me talking to Skull, I had no doubt that they would send me to an asylum.

Lockwood's smile faltered, “Uh, Lucy, you okay?”

Skull shrugged.  _ “If you can keep me secret for a week, you can keep me secret for longer. Try it out, just for a week. If you mess it up, we leave and go somewhere else.” _

I sighed, “Okay, okay.”

Lockwood's face brightened. “Really, that's great!”

I smiled slightly, tried to keep the sick feeling in my gut from spreading. This was such a bad idea. “Sorry about freezing up, I wasn’t prepared for you to say that.”

“That's fine,” he smiled, wide and wolfish, “Well then, first up is food, you have to be pretty hungry by now. Then you get a tour.” He spread his arms wide, as if this was some great announcement. He strode past me to the cabinets and flung them open, as Skull had said, there was a large quantity of food, and most of it was junk food.

_ “This guy,”  _ Skull said, pointing at Lockwood's back,  _ “is a total drama queen. You’re gonna die by drama before the week is up.” _

I ignored him, mainly because I had too, but having to ignore him didn’t mean that I didn’t agree with him. Instead, I said, “That is a lot of junk food.”

George walked buy me and collapsed on the sofa. Why there was a sofa in the kitchen, I didn’t know. “That’s because we’re two teenaged boys living alone. What else did you expect?” 

Since one of the boys was a werewolf, I’d been expecting less powdered donuts and more bloody steak.

Lockwood pulled out a plate and started to pile donuts onto it. “George, you’ll actually have to sit at the table instead of the couch if you want a donut.” He turned around, and balancing the plate on one hand, waltzed over to the table. “First rule! Donuts are taken in rotation, and you can’t take more then one at a time.” He plopped down, and after a moment's hesitation, I sat as well. George groaned, got up, and sat in one of the chairs.

Skull drifted over to the sofa and collapsed onto the sofa. He stayed solid as he did so, his body left an imprint on the cushions. He winked at me,  _ “It’s comfy, needs more spikes though. And random death traps.” _

“Why,” I said, picking up a donut, “is their a couch in your kitchen?”

George shrugged, powdered sugar falling onto his shirt, “It’s so I don’t have to walk all the way to the living room while I’m waiting for something to cook. Instead, I can just chill here.”

Lockwood shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s temporary, just until my parents come back. What’s with the skull?” 

I froze, mid bite into my donut.  _ “Oooohhhhh. You’re screwed. Didn’t even last an hour, shame.” _

“I’m not allowed to tell.” I murmured after I’d swallowed, I let my hand fall onto the fabric of the bag.

Lockwood blinked. “Sorry?”

George’s glasses glinted at me. “Is this one of those super secret witch things that no one’s supposed to know about. Holly has a few things like that.”

“It’s something like that.”

_ “Impressive save. I’ll give it a two. Say it with confidence girl!” _

“Huh.” I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not.

We continued to eat the donuts in silence, while Skull started to fake snore in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally, I had to ask. “What’s with the table cloth?”

“Oh, that?” Lockwood looked down, traced one of the drawings with his finger. “Its something my parents taught me, whenever they ate, they would talk about their ideas and jotted down notes on the cloth. It helps keep the mind’s juices flowing.” He stood up with a decisive clap, his chair rocketed back so far it slammed into the wall. 

The stunned silence was only punctuated by skulls slow clapping.  _ “Nice,”  _ he said,  _ “ I give it a three. It could use much more flair. May I suggest some strong cussing or dramatic wind? I’m not talking a breeze, but the type of wind that comes from below. That would be really dramatic.” _

Lockwood stared at the plaster where part of the chair had punched through. “Um, I’ll fix that later, time for your tour.”

George yawned. “I think I’ll stay here.”

Skull got up, floated beside me.  _ “I want to see how badly this place sucks.” _

Lockwood took me down stairs first, waving his hands around as he navigated the spiral staircase. “Down here we have laundry, modern appliances as you can see. We also have two other rooms. One, the one with the glass door, is an indoor garden and opens up to the outside. The garden is my father’s, he likes flowers. The one with the iron door hold’s George’s hoard.” He pointed at rooms as he spoke about them, then he walked over and rapped his knuckles on the metal door, there was a slightly hollow bang. “Don’t go in their without his permission, or he will freak.”

“Hoard,” I gulped, “as in-”

“Yep, George is a dragon. Come on now, keep up.” He lead me back upstairs, behind me, Skull slipped into the iron door and gave a low wolf whistle. It sounded honest, and suddenly I didn’t want to know what was in there. “Up here we have the kitchen, and here we have the living room, entrance hall, and my bedroom.” The door to his room was ajar, and the room inside was huge, yet the bed still managed to take up two thirds of the room. Lockwood continued on, leading me upstairs. “Up here we have one of the bathrooms, George’s bedroom, don’t go in there either, another guest bedroom, though that one is more tailored to shifters, and the library.”

“Where is your parents bedroom. Your sisters?”

“Oh, the bedroom downstairs is the family bedroom. Werewolves sleep like real wolves, together in the same den.”

I stopped, blinking in surprise. Werewolves slept together? It was so different from what witches did that I couldn’t help but feel like I had whiplash. And I couldn’t help but feel jealous as well. It was so obvious that he loved his family, and they loved him. I wished I could of had that, but no. That was not for me.

Lockwood hadn’t noticed my brief, frozen moment. Or if he did, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs. “Here is the bedroom you were using, as you can see, it is connected to its very own bathroom. We also have a storage room up here.” His eyes glittered. “Which room do you want?”

“What?”

“The one downstairs or the one up here? The one downstairs is bigger, but this one is more private.”

Private was perfect. “This will be fine.” I smiled. “Thanks, but . . .” I wasn’t sure how to voice my next words.

Lockwood nodded enthusiastically. “You need time to adjust. I’ll leave you to it, there’s a shower in the bathroom so you can wash the blood off your face.” He left, the door closing behind him.

I sat on the bed, exhaustion settling in my bones. I hadn’t realized that I was still wearing the clothes I’d been wearing before, the ones covered with mud and blood. I hadn’t noticed the feeling of blood caked on my forehead and cheek. The whole world was spinning, possibilities opening up, thoughts that I didn’t want to face.

Skulls face popped up from the floor, his grin wide and eager.  _ “You will not believe what that George,”  _ he spat the name like a curse,  _ “has in his hoard!” _

“Not now,” I murmured, “Tell me after I clean up.” I got up, and with a heavy tread, moved towards the bathroom, and my new life. At least until I was found out.


	4. I saw something that didn’t exist / Wait! That’s me! What a twist!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring garden shenanigans and explosions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The people who have commented and gave kudos to this crazy idea of mine, you deserve an award. This chapter is it. Welcome to the longest amount of words that I have ever managed to put in one chapter. You guys are awesome, and I hope you enjoy
> 
> I'm going to get a head start on running now.

Skull did not wait for me to clean up and regain my composure, as I had nicely asked him to. Instead, he drifted through the bathroom door as soon as I stepped into the shower.  _ “So,”  _ he said, voice scratchy with glee,  _ “George’s hoard.” _

“Skull,” I gritted out as the hot water pounded against my forehead. “What part of not now do you not understand?” Ok, who am I kidding? The only thing he had probably heard from “Not now,” was “now”.

_ “I’m insulted,”  _ he cried out,  _ “that you don’t believe in me! When you’re taking a shower is the perfect time to have a conversation with yours truly! Do you know why?”  _ I didn’t answer.  _ “Uggghhh, I guess I have to tell you. The sound of the water will cover your voice if you keep it down.”  _  He said the last part slowly, as if I was a child.

I groaned and pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes. I needed to be alone right now, to get the confusing mess of ideas and hopes sorted out in my mind. “Go away,” I said it listlessly, without hope that he would follow my order.

_ “Fine. I will.”  _ A pause,  _ “After I tell you what's in George’s hoard!”  _ He half-shouted the words, because, of course, he didn’t have to worry about being heard.

“Fine.” I bit out. “Tell me what’s in George’s hoard.” And then leave me alone and give me time to sort out what just happened.   
_ “Most of it is comics, but the rest is-”  _ he broke off into hysterical laughter, high and out of control. My stomach sank as I contemplated exactly what would send Skull into wild hysterics.

“Please tell me it's not porn.” I said, with a heavy heart that he might say that is was, indeed, porn.

_ “Nope! Guess again!”  _  He could barely get the words out through his laughter.

“A dead body?”

_ “Nope!” _

“Body parts.”

_ “Closer.”  _ His laughter had almost subsided now, but his voice was still full of malicious, ghostly glee.

“Bloody dismemberment porn?” Was that even a thing? It sounded like something Skull would find funny.

He burst out into laughter again, and for a minute, that was all I could hear. His horrid, scratchy laughter. He sounded like his second death would be caused by uncontrollable hysteria. And even though I didn’t know what was so funny, I started to giggle as well. My guesses had been pretty out there, and it was unlikely that bloody dismemberment porn would be what a dragon hoarded. The whole situation felt unreal, as if some kind of fever dream. I get attacked by a werewolf, get saved by a dragon, and then am offered a home by the two. 

As if two random guys I just met could possibly care more about me then the family that had known me all my life.

I fell to my knees, my giggles turning to choking sobs. But, they were happy tears, happy and sad in a horrid mix. I was safe, for the moment, and the looming threat of being sent to an insane asylum had been banished. I would never see my family again . . . and I was glad. Glad to be so far away from the people who had believed I was crazy, and to now be among people who might actually become my friends. 

After a few minutes of stifled sobbing, I couldn’t deny that I felt better. I couldn’t deny that the knot in my heart and head had loosened. I could finally pinpoint some of my emotions and thoughts. I wiped my eyes, only to get more water in them as the shower spray hit my face, and got up. Belatedly, I realized I was smiling, and it felt . . . it felt good.  I grabbed the shampoo that had been thoughtfully left out by someone and started to scrub my hair. “Okay,” I said, and my voice was rough, “tell me.”

_ “Specimen jars!”  _ Skull’s voice was filled with glee, and he chuckled when he said the words. If he had heard my little breakdown, he didn’t comment. Which was a good thing, because if he had, I would have had to learn how to punch a ghost.

“Specimen jars?” I asked, “I thought you were going to say something more macabre. But it’s just specimen jars? Just the jars?”

_ “No, dummy. It’s not just the jars. There are things in the jars.”  _ He was grinning, I could tell just from his voice. He was grinning his wide, violent, gleeful grin that showed all his teeth. 

“Okay,” I said, because he was obviously dying to make the pronouncement as dramatic as possible. “What’s in the jars?”

_ “All kinds of things,”  _ he said, an almost dreamy quality to his tone.  _ “Lizards, snakes, fish. The type of stuff you find in mad scientist labs and college science professors school rooms. He has a human finger in one, another that’s labeled as a werewolf’s eyeball. They’re really old, centuries old, you can smell it on them.” _

I covered my mouth with one soapy hand. “Oh gods.” Then, “Blehh,” because, news flash alert, soapy hands are not the best hands to cover mouths with.

_ “That's not all.”  _ His voice was definitely dreamy, as if he were reciting love poetry.  _ “He also has skeletons in there. A rat, a cat, a dog, and those were the ones I caught sight off. He also has some taxidermy in there. Most of those are birds, but he’s got some of the stuff that looks like it’s been frankensteined. Many animals stitched together to make things like ‘Real Mermaids and ‘The Jackalope’. There’s even a bear in one corner. It’s glorious.”  _ He breathed out the last bit, a wistful sigh that sent my skin crawling.

“Is that,” I hesitated, “Is that even legal?” Werewolf eyes, human fingers, and whatever a Jackalope was? That couldn’t be legal. No way.

_ “I have no idea. But it certainly isn’t the type of stuff most dragon's hoard these days. The last dragon I’ve meat who hoarded anything like that was more than a hundred years ago, and the hoard wasn’t anywhere near the wide range this George has.” _

“You’ve met dragons before, and more importantly, seen their hoards?” I asked. The meeting a dragon part I could get behind, but seeing their hoards . . .  wasn’t that almost impossible?

Skull didn’t answer, and a quick peak around the curtain showed that he had decided to honor his word and left after telling me of George’s hoard. Or perhaps he’d left so I couldn’t barrage him with questions about his past. It was most likely the second reason. He’d never told me much, and clammed up whenever I asked.

Instead, I turned my mind to George’s hoard. Comic books, specimen jars, skeletons, and taxidermy. What a weird collection, and I never wanted to see it. Especially not at night, in the dark, with a ghost bothering me.

Was George even safe to live with? There weren't any bodies, but still, a human finger? A werewolf’s eye? How did he get them? Why did he have them? Wait, I didn’t want to know, and I certainly was never going to ask. And if things got dangerous, I could always just leave.

 

. . .

 

Lockwood bounded down the stairs again, this time not tripping over his own feet. Above, he could hear the shower starting. He’d leave Lucy alone for a bit, give her time to adjust. He’d make sure George would do the same.

Lockwood reached the kitchen, no George. He looked in the living room, no George. He looked in the entrance hall, and there was George, sticking a pair of keys into his pocket. “My goodness,” Lockwood said, “Is it that time already?”

“No.” George replied. “We’re meeting early, and then heading over to the library.”

“Ew. What do you think we should do with - ” He waved his hand towards the ceiling, and in the attic, there was the sound of water running. And maybe muffled talking? Or sobbing? Impossible to tell.

George blinked at him. “What should we do with her? I wasn’t the one who invited her to stay at my house.”

Lockwood rocked back on his heels. “Well, how should I know?”

George narrowed his eyes, and after a moment's consideration, said, “Nothing today, give her time to adjust. But tomorrow, we can take her to some of the popular attractions. From her accent, I’m guessing she’s from outside the city. We’ll go from there.”

“Shopping,” Lockwood added, “she’ll need more clothes than what she’s got. The pair she was wearing earlier needs to be burned. With fire. Lots and lots of fire.”

George snorted. “Of course you’d think shopping is on the priority list.”

“It is!”

“Anyway, I think shopping would be better for when she’s a full on tenant, not a possible one.”

“Whatever, so, nothing today. Tomorrow, tourist destinations. Perhaps the day after that, the British Museum? That will take a full day by itself.”

George shrugged one shoulder. “I was thinking more along the lines of the Natural History Museum, or the Science Museum, or the National Archives. But the British Museum works as well. For tourist destinations, we could do the Tower of London. And after the British Museum we could see what she’s interested in.”

Lockwood nodded and opened the door. “That should work.” 

George shuffled out the doorway and Lockwood followed him, closing the door behind them both. The dragon frowned at the werewolf. “What are you doing?”

Lockwood grinned his wide, wolfish, cheery grin. “Leaving Lucy alone to adjust. I saw something I wanted to buy for Father, and I figure I can do that while letting her get used to the house. Besides,” his grin widened to resemble something much more wolfish, much more vicious “If she’s going to cause trouble, she’ll do it when she’s alone. So it's better to give her the opportunity before we get too invested.”

“Lockwood,” George said dryly, “You’re already invested.”

 

. . .

 

I exited the bathroom, breathing in the scent of being clean. Skull was lying on my bed, flipping my knife over and over, the blade making a silver flash with every arc. I took another deep breath and said, “Thanks, for leaving me a pair of clean clothes. I kinda forgot.”

_ “Yeah, obviously.”  _  The knife made another arc in the air, glinting in the light streaming in from the windows.

I walked over and looked out, the view wasn’t great, just the streets and the shops and houses on the other side, but it was better than no view at all. My old room had pretty much been a prison cell, all it lacked was the bars on the door. “This is all so weird,” I murmured, placing a hand on the window. The glass was smudged and dirt streaked, and there was dust on the windowsill, but it wouldn’t be hard to clean. “I’m given a place to stay by the boy who attacked me and the boy who saved me. On my first night in London. It doesn’t feel real. I mean, what are the odds?” My fingers trailed down to the warm wood of the window frame.

There was a hiss, a thunk, a silver object embedded itself in the wood were my fingers had once lain. “Skull!” I yelled, then with a horrified gasp, I covered my mouth. Lockwood, George, they had definitely heard that.

Skull had sat up, his ice eyes glared at me from the dark shadow of his sockets.  _ “Gods above and demons below Lucy, I knew you were dull but this is taking it to a new height. Did your brain freeze over while you were taking your shower?”  _ He jerked his arms out wide, a sharp movement almost over before it had begun.  _ “If anything like this should happen to anyone, its you! You see ghosts for gods’ sake! You are already outside the odds! All the weird and impossible stuff is going to happen to you!” _

“Fine, but you didn’t have to throw a knife at me!”

_ “Relax, as if I’d miss. And you don’t have to worry about Lockwood or George hearing you, they left.” _

I blinked in surprise. “They did?”

_ “Yep.”  _ He waited a few seconds.  _ “Thank you for telling me that Skull. You’re amazing, Skull. Really Lucy, there’s no need to heap such compliments on top of me.” _

I sighed out and tugged the dagger out of the wood. It didn’t want to come, and I nearly fell back when I pulled it out. “Whatever,” I panted, my voice amused, “How do you get blood stains out of clothing?”

_ “Just use lemon juice.”  _ He said it in a way that made in very clear on how obvious he though the answer was.

“Thank you,” I said, and knife in hand, I went to grab my bloody clothing.

_ “Where do you think you’re going?”  _  Skull asked, his voice drawn out and amused. I half turned to look at him. He stook on my bed, something metallic glittering in his hand. A steak knife.  _ “You don’t have know how to knife fight, and luckily for you, I’m an expert in knife fighting.”   _ He grinned, wide and slow, _ “And no one is here to interrupt.”  _ He grinned wider, and it was his maniac, skeletal grin,  _ “And I’ve always believed in learning on the go.” _ He rushed at me, his knife glinting dangerously in his hand.

I yelped and stumbled back, tried to get the door between us. “Any pointers?” I called in my frantic backpedaling.

He laughed, a half-crazed sound.  _ “Avoid the pointy end!” _

Of course, avoid the pointy end. I would have never figured out that on my own.

I found out a few things quickly. Either I had an undiscovered knack for avoiding being stabbed by sharp objects, Skull had been lying to me when he said he was an expert, or he was rusty after being a ghost haunting the middle of nowhere for a hundred years. Perhaps a mixture of all three, but it wasn’t long till I’d determined that I never wanted to be in a knife fight.

Why?

Because apparently knife fighting was a mixture of stabbing someone, parkour, and dirty fighting. Skull was too quick for me to stab, and dirty fighting didn’t work on ghosts, also, I was nowhere near fast enough to do the stunts that Skull was pulling. In fact, I was pretty sure Skull was only pulling those stunts because he was a ghost, and dying by stupid feats of flexibility and speed were impossible for someone who was already dead.

I was also pretty sure that what he did was not the correct way to knife fight.

The ultimate result of our impromptu training session was me falling on my backside while tripping over my backpack, and Skull stopping his knife a centimeter from my neck. He pulled back and made a face.  _ “Lucky you. Someone’s coming.” _

“Thank the gods.” I groaned. “You weren’t really gonna kill me, were you?” I asked, because that steak knife had been way too close for comfort.

_ “Lucy, don’t you trust me?”  _ He inspected the knife in his hands,  _ “I’ll be back, I have to wash this off. You might want to treat those cuts.” _

He opened my door, and left, leaving me to wonder what cuts he was talking about. Then I looked at my arms. Up and down my arms were red slashes, most of them were small and superficial, but some were bleeding. Thankfully, I was wearing a tee-shirt, so my clothes hadn’t been ruined. Unfortunately, I was now sweaty and bloody, which was why I’d taken my shower in the first place. And my arms were hurting, with was definitely a downside to this whole teach-the-witch-to-knife-fight plan.

With another groan, I pushed myself up and moved toward the bathroom. Who ever had left the soap and shampoo had also left basic first aid supplies. Hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, neosporin, and bandages. I ended up using a little bit of everything, mainly because I didn’t know what germs steak knife carried.

Which left me staring at myself in the mirror. The glass wasn’t as dirty as the window, perhaps someone had cleaned it? I didn’t matter. What mattered was that I didn’t have any scratches on my face. Scratches on my arms could be covered up, scratches on my face couldn’t. And I couldn’t blame the scratches on the glass from last night, because I’d been healed by then.

I quickly changed my tee-shirt for my long sleeved shirt, hid my knife in the waistband of my jeans, and gathered my bloody clothing in my arms.

I headed downwards to the kitchen. I didn’t hear anyone coming, but I had puny human ears, so I couldn’t be sure. Skull was already in the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune, sitting on the counter and swinging his legs. The knife was back in the knife block. I put the clothes on the kitchen table, and started looking through the various cabinets for some lemon juice.

“Uhh, Lucy, what are you doing?” I jerked in surprise, twisted to see Lockwood placing his load on the table.

_ “What,”  _ said Skull,  _ “You’re not deaf. You could have heard him coming” _

“Looking for lemon juice, to clean off my clothes.” I answered.

He looked at the clothes on the table top and said, “Those clothes? No way. Those are being burned.”

“They’re one of three pairs of clothes I have!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t counting the clothes I’d taken from the trash can, they weren’t mine till I altered them.

Lockwood frowned. “Well, I guess we can see if the blood will wash out before I burn them. George will probably have some somewhere.”

“That's good.” I said, then stood up and closed the cabinet I’d been looking through. “What’s that?” I pointed towards the thing on the table. It was a plant of some kind, and looked oddly familiar.

_ “A plant obviously.”  _ Skull remarked, sarcastic as usual.

“Oh that?” Lockwood grinned, wide and bright. “It’s nightshade, for my father's garden. It’s pretty isn’t it?”

“Lockwood,” I said, agast, “It’s poison.” How did he not know that? It was called deadly nightshade for a reason.

Skull burst out into laughter.  _ “Better make sure nobody eats its then. Wait, it would be funnier if they did eat it. What is your presence doing to me Lucy? I’m becoming nice!” _ He examined his hands and arms as if he had never seen them before, a look of horror on his face.

With difficulty, I ignored him. Lockwood’s grin had faded slightly, and he looked at the plant in a new light. “It is? How do you know?”

“My mother used to ke-” I trailed off, uncomfortably.

Lockwood winced, looked away. We stood there in an uncomfortable silence, at least for Lockwood. Skull’s tuneless whistling, which he had resumed, broke the quiet for me. Finally, Lockwood met my gaze, smiled slightly. “Well, would you like to help me plant it?”

_ “That's something I want to see. A werewolf planting something.” _

Skull sounded excited. Way too excited, it should have put me on edge, should have told me to run the other way. But there was something inviting and hopeful in Lockwood’s smile, and I found myself smiling back at him. “Sure.”

Looking back, I should have run.

Lockwood led the way to the garden, the nightshade in his arms. I followed, while Skull drifted behind me, cackling. Suddenly, I realized that his skull was still in my room. I didn’t actually know how far he could travel without the skull, could he even make it to the garden? 

Lockwood ran to the door, yanked it open, and a view of green and growing things opened up to my sight. Lockwood stood on the threshold, vibrating with excitement. “Come on, we don’t have all day! George will be home eventually.”

George wasn’t here? I figured he’d ignored me and was holed up in his room, or was staring at his hoard, or something. And why did it matter whether he was here or not? I looked towards Skull, and his expression did nothing to reassure me. His smile was sharp and wide and violent, and he kept on breaking off into manic laughter. I looked back towards Lockwood, who disappeared into the garden, and I realized something.

One of my sisters had a dog, it was her familiar. It wasn’t allowed near my mother’s garden, because whenever it entered, it inevitably dug up something important . But Lockwood was a werewolf, and there was a big difference between a werewolf and a dog. Yes, apparently werewolves slept in the same room, and yes, apparently werewolves got hung up on scents, but they didn’t dig up gardens, did they?

I followed Lockwood into the room, he stood in the middle, vibrating, eyes gleaming. “Lockwood?” I asked, hesitantly, because I wasn’t sure what to make of his vibrating. Beside me, Skull had gone silent, but his grin still stretched across his face. 

“Lucy,” he smiled at me, wide and bright and infectious, and I could feel my smile return. It would be fine. “Where do you think we should plant it?”

I gazed around the garden, looking for a spot that looked similar to where my mom had planted hers. “There,” I said, pointing towards a spot that had lots of sunlight and was also near one of the various sprinklers that lined the ceiling. 

“Excellent,” Lockwood said, “let's get to digging!”

_ “Ohhh yes, lets.” _

I don’t want to say that I ended up kicking Lockwood out of his father's garden. I also don’t want to say that I found out Lockwood's suit was enchanted, not only to not split apart when he squatted, but to repel mulch as well. I don’t want to say that any thoughts of werewolves being more dignified than Lockwood sometimes acted disappeared in a haze of brown dirt. 

Let’s just say that I now admired the amount of control that Lockwood’s father must have to have planted this whole garden without digging it back up.

Long after Lockwood had slunk out of the garden with his metaphorical tail between his legs, and long after Skull had left to do who knows what, George found me, still replanting things. The feel of dirt under my fingers was calming, and the scent of green things was helping me relax. I was on the second to last plant that needed to be put back into the earth, and was not looking forward to seeing Lockwood again.

Yelling at him had seemed such a good idea at the time.

“Ah, here you are. I kinda figured this would be where you ended up.”

I looked up. George slumped in the entrance of the garden, surveying the wreckage with a blank face. “I think I got most of it back in where its supposed to be.” I offered, raking my hair back with my fingers.

“Lockwood’s holed up in the library right now. He claims that you have a bark worthy of a werewolf.” He raised a single eyebrow.

I winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said, blandly, “Lockwood’s in the state caught between cub and adult wolf. He needs to be yelled at some times. It’s good for him.”

I got back to work. “I feel like I should have known this was a bad idea.” With Skull so eager it had to be.

“Oh, you knew all right. But it didn’t matter. He had his smile up.” I remembered that smile, that wide white grin that called my own grin in response. The smile that seemed to say ‘hey, just listen, you know it’s a good idea.’ I could learn to hate that smile. “Alpha call and everything,” George continued, “hard to fight it if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“Alpha call?” I asked.

George walked over, started working on the next plant. “Yes, alpha call. It’s common knowledge. Don’t you have werewolves were you come from?”

My stomach sank. We did have werewolves, not a large pack, but they were there. I wondered if my family had known about this alpha call as well, or if it was something they’d never told me because I wasn’t a real witch. If so, what else wasn’t I told? “What does the alpha call do?”

“It’s something all werewolves have,” George said, his brow furrowed, “at least to some extent. It’s basically a way of swaying others to their point of view, a ‘listen up’ if you will. The more intense you have it, the higher you tend to be in pack rankings. Of course challenges are still done by fighting, but a werewolf is more likely to be able to challenge if their alpha call is stronger. It wasn’t a common thing back in the old days, but since packs started moving into cities and generally getting larger its become more prominent.” He chuckled suddenly. “If you think Lockwood has it bad, wait till you meet Jessica, she has the strongest alpha call of anyone I’ve ever met.” He sat back, looking at his work with an almost self satisfied gaze.

“Oh,” I said, standing up and brushing off my jeans. I hesitated for a second, then asked, “If you weren't with Lockwood, where were you.”

He stared at me for a few seconds, then stood. “With my mom.”

I felt like I’d just been slapped across my face. “But,” I said, I couldn’t find the words.

George’s glasses flashed in the light, “But if I’m on good terms with my mother, why am I living with Lockwood?” He turned his head, gazed towards the iron door and the assortment of weird stuff laying behind it. “It’s a hoard thing. I’m sure Lockwood’s library has something about it if you want to read about it.”

He turned, left the garden, leaving me very confused.

 

. . .

 

It took me the rest of the day in Lockwood’s library to find the answer. Apparently, dragons don’t like each other, because they are extremely protective of their hoards. They can get over this protectiveness during mating season, but after the deed is done, the two dragons never meet again, at least until the next mating season, which can take decades to come around again. Dragon mothers can care for their young until the young reach the age where they start to create their own hoards, then the children leave the nest and go off to stake out their own territory. This happens around puberty. Which happens around thirty.

Apparently dragons also age slower than many other creatures.

I also took this time to research other areas of werewolf culture, and went on looking into vampire culture as well. Surprise, surprise, I found that I knew almost nothing. I doubted that my family was really that ignorant of the traits and cultures of other supernatural beings. So I’d been left in the dark. On purpose.

I didn’t touch the three books on witches that I found.

Skull rearranged the top shelves so that the first letters of the last names of authors spelled cuss words. More impressively, he only did this whenever Lockwood or George walked in and sat down to read or play chess.

George did have lemon juice, and it did work on my clothes. They did not get burned, much to Lockwood’s disappointment. 

The next day came, and after breakfast, I was dragged off to go sightseeing. Luckily, I’d remembered Skull’s bag. Even more luckily, nobody looked into the bag I was carrying. Since one of the sites we visited was the Tower of London, Skull claimed that this was a glorious hole in the security and we should blow up the building. I brought up this blatant flaw with Lockwood and George. Lockwood said they didn’t check because they could tell we were obviously not human. George claimed that they didn’t look into my bag because I looked too poor to afford or to make a bomb.

On a whim, I bought an overpriced sketchbook and pencils, and stuffed them into my bag with the skull. Skull then complained that he would start smelling of pencil and graphite. I resisted the urge to tell him that it would be an improvement over the smell of moldy old bone.

George left us to have lunch with his mom, something he apparently did every day in a neutral spot that was not in either of their territories.

He met back up with us on the way home, but before we could step inside, Lockwood stopped us and grinned. A wide cheery smile that sent me flashbacks of garden mayhem. He said two words. “Ghost tour.”

Surprisingly, Skull didn’t have anything to say.

“Ghost tour?” I asked, hesitantly. There probably wouldn’t be any actual ghosts, all faded away into nothing. But you never knew.

“There is one near here, isn’t there? And it is a great way to get to know local history. Even if it is all a sham.” George said, his voice almost thoughtful.

Lockwood turned his wide, hopeful grin towards me. It was a bad idea, I knew that, it had to be a bad idea. But I wanted to do it anyway. I almost glanced nervously at Skull, but caught myself right in time. “I don’t see why not?” I said, hoping my own personal ghost would get the implied question.

_ “No thanks.” _ Said Skull,  _ “Why would I want to learn about stupid ghost stories when the coolest one is obviously me?”  _ Liar, he just wanted to finish rearranging the bookshelves. 

“Let me put my bag inside first,” I said. Lockwood unlocked the door, I headed upstairs and set the bag back down onto my bed. “Don’t cause too much trouble.” I hissed.

_ “Who, me?”  _ He put a hand over his heart.  _ “I would never, don’t you see my halo? Perfect little angel, that's what I am.” _

I snorted, “Yeah, whatever,” and left. Walking down the street with Lockwood and George, I realized that only two days into my stay, I already thought of 35 Portland Row as my home. At least, more of a home then my real home had been. It was a nice feeling, if a little bit odd.

The ghost tour was not uneventful. There where a few ghosts, just shades. They stared at me with hollow eyes as if they could sense that I could see them. As if they could sense that I could save them from a second death. 

Somebody died.

The tour was cancelled halfway through, apparently there was a death on one of the sights. Even I could hear the sirens wailing a while off. The whole section was a crime scene. Lockwood and George conversed loudly on the way home, wondering what had happened, who had died, how they died, who was the killer, ectra, ectra. I chimed in occasionally, but mostly the image of the broken bloody figure, ripped clothing, shaking arms, hungry eyes, and semi-solid body replayed in my mind.

The victim had not made a pretty ghost.

Skull was chuckling manically when I got home, giggles broken by phrases like _“That will teach him,”_ and, _“Stupid, impressive hoard.”_  I paid it no mind and stumbled into bed. Skull, who had his skull in one hand, and was pretending to lean on the window sill like some weird Hamlet, exclaimed when I entered. _“You look terrible!”_

“Someone died.” I muttered into my pillow.

_ “Really! Give me all the juicy details!” _

I was already asleep.

The next morning, while I ate cereal and Lockwood chomped on donuts, George stumbled up from downstairs, anger in every line of his body. “Who,” he growled out, long and low and violent, “messed with my hoard.” Behind his glasses, his eyes were glowing.

With supreme effort, I did not cuss out Skull like I wanted to. I also mentally kicked myself for not investigating why Skull was so giggly last night. Nothing meant trouble like a giggly Skull.

“Not me.” I said, taking another bite of my cereal.

Lockwood shook his hands vigorously. “Not me, not after what happened last time.” His amber eyes were wide and slightly wild.

“Perhaps,” I added, “It was a ghost.” The glare George sent me could have skinned a human alive. 

“Lockwood knows better than to mess with my hoard.” He hissed, and there was something primal in the way he said those words. The hair on the back of my neck started to stand up. “So that leaves you.”

I raised my hands in defense, while beside me, Skull laughed. “It wasn’t me. And I didn’t summon or order anything to do it either. Nor did I use any magic.” Because I didn’t have any magic. “Was anything taken?” 

“She’s not lying.” Lockwood said, while bringing a donut up to his lips in an exaggerated gesture.

“No,” he glared at Lockwood. “Just moved around.”

“Perhaps you moved something and forgot you moved it?” I offered. It could have happened. 

Beside my ear, Skull whispered,  _ “I moved everything to the right by five centimeters. The bigger stuff by five inches.”  _

I would have been more impressed if his little prank didn’t run the risk of kicking me out.

George grumbled something under his breath and stole Lockwood’s plate of donuts. “Hey!” Lockwood cried out, “Thats mine!”

“Not anymore.”

“What did you mean by Lockwood already knows not to mess with your hoard?” I asked.

“Well,” George said, powdered sugar already covering his mouth, “about  a month after I moved in, Lockwood decided to look and see what was behind the iron doors.” Lockwood winced. “I don’t know how he got in, but once he got in, he couldn’t get out again. Werewolves, you know, have a very fast metabolism, they can starve in a day if they don’t get food.”

“Which,” Lockwood said, “is why you should give me my donuts back.”

“No. Anyway, Lockwood ended up eating several of my specimen jars.”

Lockwood slumped. “I nearly died. Twice. Once when I got sick because of the chemicals used to preserve the things. Twice when George nearly killed me after he let me out.”

I sat in stunned silence. Skull whistled.  _ “I wish I’d thought of dumping out the specimen jars. It would have drove George bonkers.” _

“Jessica saved him from my wrath,” George continued, “with her alpha’s call in fact.”

“Anyway!” Lockwood shouted, standing so fast the chair skidded across the floor. It didn’t impact the wall, this time. “Today, we have something special planned.” He grinned, wide and cheerful. “We’re taking you to the British Museum!”

“Can I take-”

“The skull?” Lockwood shrugged. “Sure, I know some of the wolves in security, they’ll get it through.” 

_ “I don’t want to go to some dusty old museum!” _

I was so not leaving him alone, not after he rearranged George’s hoard. “Great!” I said, “let’s go!”

The museum was amazing. But there were some of the places that I couldn’t stay in for long. Like mummy exhibit. Whatever the Egyptians did to the mummies had kept the ghosts strong enough to survive the centuries. There were no shades or half formed apparitions, they were all detailed, and when they saw me, they knew I could see them. I could see it in their eyes.

This was not helped by Skull going,  _ “Hey! This is my human! Get your mitts off!” _ _   
_ But other then that, it was perfect.

Although George had to leave sometimes, claiming that if he stayed any longer, he would end up stealing something for his hoard.

And Skull made it so that many of the dinosaur skeletons were making obscene gestures.

And Lockwood would start to expand on every little thing, and point out the artifacts his parents had donated to the museum.

It was fun. More fun than I've had in a long time.

The next day started out lazier. After breakfast I retired to the library to try out my sketch pads and pencils. George read a comic, Lockwood read from a stack of magazines. 

I’d always liked art, it was an escape from, everything. But I’d never had anything resembling the sketchbook before. Or anything nearing the quality of pencils. I decided I was going to draw Skull. He did not help me by staying in a single position. Instead, he started modeling in more and more ridiculous poses, while exclaiming  _ “Draw me like one of your french girls!”  _ until he got bored and went back to rearranging books. So the drawing wasn’t accurate by any means, but I still got lost in the gentle scratch of pencil on paper, in the darkening lines on the white blankness.

“Wow Lucy, you didn’t tell me you could draw!” I looked up, Lockwood was leaning on the top of my chair, eyes wide and gleaming. “Can I see it?”

“Uh, I guess.” I held it out to him.

He took it in his hands and whistled. “George look at this.” He turned it around as George looked up, the dragon’s eyes widened.

“Gods above and demons below is that good,” he breathed.

“It’s really not,” I muttered, “It’s just a sketch.”

“Lucy,” Lockwood said, disbelieving, “This isn’t a sketch. It’s a masterpiece.” He turned it around so I could see it.

I saw it, the sharp lines of Skull’s jaw, the long, bladed nose, the curve of the chin, the hair spiked with who-knows-what, eyes glinting malevolently from deep within his sockets. His grin cut across his face, as sharp and dangerous as a knife blade.

It was okay, I guessed.

Skull drifted above Lockwood’s shoulder, his eyes widened in shock.  _ “Hey!”  _ He said,  _ “It actually looks like me!” _

Lockwood turned the drawing so he could examine it some more. “Who is it?”   
I wet my lips, “A friend.”

He gave it back to me, eyes glowing, his grin wide and bright, and I could feel my lips pull up at the edges. “Could you do one of me?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Hey,” George said, “We should take you to one of the art galleries. After lunch of course.”

“That,” I breathed, “would be wonderful.” I went back to work on Skull’s portrait, I was nowhere near close to being done. In my chest, warmth was spreading throughout my body. It was a nice feeling.

 

. . .

 

George met Lockwood, Skull and I on the steps of Tate Modern. We had decided that we would hit the National Gallery tomorrow. I bounced on my toes while Skull bemoaned his luck. Lockwood seemed more amused then excited, and George was as blank faced as ever. I couldn’t help but be excited, art, with no chance of annoying ghosts that I would have to ignore, except for Skull.

It was wonderful.

How else can I describe it?

Skull complained loudly, Lockwood and George pretended to be interested, while actually being interested in some of the exhibits. 

I only subjected them to two hours, but I could tell even that was straining the limits of their patience. 

I left with a smile on my face.

_ “What’s that?”  _ I turned to look. Skull was pointing at a building nearby, a modern work of iron and glass. I repeated his question.

“Oh, that?” George shrugged. “It’s the flight simulator. It just opened to the public. Would you like to go?”   
Skulls face was a mixture of emotions I’d never seen on him before. Grief, envy, wistfulness, longing. He looked oddly vulnerable. I personally had no interest in a flight simulator, but Skull had no interest in art, and I’d dragged him along anyway. I’d deal with the simulator, for him.

“Sure.”

I don’t know how Lockwood got us in without my bag being checked. My guess was that it was all his alpha charm doing the work. We were led to a pod in the middle of one of the rooms, just big enough for the three of us and a ghost. The interior of the pod was lined with screens, the surfaces reflecting us in wavering detail. I sat down in one of the four chairs and strapped myself in, my bag held in my lap. Lockwood and George did likewise.

“All passengers please remain seated.” The words blared from speakers hidden in the shadows of the pod. The screens flickered to life all around us, until it looked like we were in a meadow with the blue sky just above our heads. “Your flight will begin in three. Two. One.”

The whole room tilted back, the view around us shifted as if we were accelerating up. I looked down, instead of the metal floor I expected, I could see grass rapidly disappearing as we moved. The floor was made of screens too.

The whole room jerked again, the view on the screens twirling around us as if we were doing a barrel roll. I shrieked in surprise and grabbed my bag tighter. Lockwood was laughing, George was grinning. Beside me, Skull was smiling, a small, sad smile.  _ “It’s not the same,”  _ he murmured,  _ “But it sure is close.” _

The whole room tilted forwards at a steep angle, in front of us, the grass was approaching rapidly, the world spun around us in dissing circles. Skull gave out an incredulous laugh, one without malice, just surprised and happy. I smiled. We stabilized right before hitting the ground, and shot right back up. “George,” I cried, “do you fly like this?”

“NO!” He shouted back.

_ “Wimp!”  _ Skull stood on his tiptoes, head back, arms spread, grinning widely.  _ “This is the only way to fly!” _

The room jerked to a sudden stop, the screens around us sputtered and went dark. I was thrown into my harness and my bag and Skull’s skull spilled out of my lap. Lockwood was already standing, his amber eyes gazed around. “Did you hear that?”

George was halfway out of his harness, I started to struggle to undo mine. “Yes.”

“Well I didn’t,” I cursed, “fill me in!”

_ “That,”  _ said Skull, voice oddly calm,  _ “was an explosion.” _

Lockwood looked at George. “Clear us a path.” Then, just as I was standing up, he grabbed me and threw me over my shoulder. He was warmer than I expected, radiating heat like a furnace. His fast metabolism, I guessed. 

“What are you doing?” I cried. Skull seemed frozen, staring at the blank screens, a pained expression on his face.

“You aren’t as fast as George and I, so I’m carrying you.” There was the sound of cracking glass and ripping metal, then a thump. Lockwood rushed forwards, I caught a glimpse of metal and glass, then Lockwood hit the ground hard. Skull floated beside us, his face dazed. Lockwood ran forward, I twisted to see the door, the hallway. The hallway that went both ways.

“Which way?” I called, I could feel panic start to bloom in my stomach.

The whole building shook, there was a sound of tortured metal and a boom that echoed through the corridor. Lockwood stumbled, George managed to stay steady. We were hit by a wave of heat and smoke. At one side of the corridor, something red started to billow.

_ “Not that way.”   _ Even though they couldn’t hear him, it looked like Skull’s voice had broken Lockwood and George out of frozen shock. Lockwood turned around and ran, I could hear George pounding out his steady tread before us. Behind us, in my line of sight, the fireball grew brighter as it thundered down the hallway. It was fast, and catching up. I twisted my head to look at Skull, who steadily ran beside Lockwood, behind him, I could see the flashing walls as they sped by.  _ “Well,”  _ he said,  _ “This is fun. I always love to end the day off with an explosion.” _

I smiled weakly at him but didn’t answer, fear clawed at my throat. He fell back to look at me in the face, eyes glittering.  _ “So, what's it like being carried around by a werewolf? I always wondered.” _

I made a rude gesture. Behind me, George called out. “I think I see the exit.” Relief shot through me, we had a chance of making it.

Behind Skull, the flames were closer, a roiling mass of light and shadow. “Lockwood,you might want to go quicker.” My voice sounded high and shrill, even to my own ears. Around us, the alarms screamed, wailing over and over.

_ “That's what she said,”  _ Skull grinned, wide and sharp,  _ “You know, this brings back memories. Me running from explosions. You, listening to me but unable to sass back. This might be my favo-” _ He jerked back suddenly as if someone had grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled, voice cut off. His eyes widened with fear.  _ “My Skull.” _

His skull. It had fallen out of my lap. I saw it, in a flash, the bone wrapped in bubble wrap, lying on the pod floor. It felt like someone had dumped ice water down my back. “NO!” I screamed. I started to kick, my elbow hit the back of Lockwood’s head. He grunted, stumbled, slowed. I reached out as far as I could, pushing on Lockwood as if that could help, and Skull reached his hand out towards me as well, straining against his tether. For a second, maybe less, we were frozen in time, our fingertips brushing, and I thought I could grab his hand and pull him with me. Forget the bloody skull, it wasn’t really important. Was it?

Then Lockwood straightened up and started running again. My hand closed on open air. Skull’s eyes met mine, wide, afraid, chips of ice in hollow sockets. I said his name, the words just barely on my lips. I caught a glimpse of his form, bone thin arms and legs, out of date clothing, spiky hair, fingers reaching out towards me desperately, his whole figure lined in red. Then the flames snapped him up like hungry jaws.

I would remember that image forever.

I screamed his name, started to fight Lockwood again. He held me tighter, words reaching my ears despite the smoke and sound. “It’s fine. You can summon him later!”

He didn’t understand. I couldn’t resumon Skull. He was my first friend, my best friend. If I lost him, if I lost him, I didn’t know what I would do. 

I screamed his name again. Or perhaps it wasn’t his name, but a wordless cry of grief and horror.

There was no answer.

We hit the doors and they busted open in a shower of glass and metal fragments. Lockwood tripped and we went sprawling as the flames roared out of the building. They stopped just short of us, cut off by the torrential downpour that had started up while we were in the flight simulator. The rain hit my face, soaked my hair instantly. I was sobbing, horrible, racking sobs that shook my whole body. The word no repeated on my lips over and over, like a broken record, or a desperate plea.

Nearby, Lockwood groaned, cupping the back of his head, while George stood with his hands on his knees, panting.

I have never felt so alone in my life.


	5. I Spoke to Someone by That Chair / Yet Everyone Said There Was No One There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers! Skull's not dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long for me to update and I am sorry.

I don’t remember how we got back to Thirty Five Portland Row, it was all a blur of colors and emotions. Sirens in the background seemed to blend in with the taxi drive home. Being questioned by the police seemed to merge with stumbling up the stairs to my little attic room. It was all one and the same and it didn’t matter because Skull was gone. 

I think I yelled at Lockwood and George when they tried to talk to me. I know I slammed the door behind me and slumped against it, sobbing. I know that because that was where I was now, leaning against the rough grain, shaking as if I would break into a million fragments. I cried until I was gasping for breath and had no more tears left. Then I stumbled and staggered into the bed, burying my face into the pillow and closing my sore eyes, trying not to think. Trying not to remember him silhouetted by flames, reaching out.

With a frustrated cry I rolled over, panting as I stared up at the ceiling. Something was digging in my side, but I ignored it. I deserved to be uncomfortable, I’d let Skull die after all. I shut my eyes and swallowed hard, and once again that image rose in front of me, his fingers reaching out towards me, eyes wide and desperate.

I shot up, fist in my mouth to keep myself from crying out again. I grabbed what I was laying on and began to pull my arm back to throw it, then I saw what it was and stopped myself. The sketchbook, my sketchbook. I flipped to the first page with shaking fingers to see my drawing of Skull. I’d started to work on his shoulders and neck. It was only lightly sketched out, but the contours made me choke. He would never again prance around and make it difficult for me to draw him.

Someone knocked on the door. “Lucy?” Lockwood said softly. “We’ve got food,” he hesitated, “We’ve got food set out in the kitchen in you’re hungry. George and I . . . George and I will be in the library, we're here if you need us.” I didn’t say anything, my fingers were tracing the blades of Skull’s cheek bones, I felt like crying again. “I’m going now.”

I looked up at the door as Lockwood’s footsteps faded away. Something cold and hard was coalescing in my gut, making my whole body go numb. Slowly, I shut my sketchbook and started to pack my things. Slowly and as quietly as possible, so Lockwood and George couldn’t hear. They would try to stop me, so it was best that they didn’t know that I was leaving.

All those years buried in the ground and Skull hadn’t given up and hadn’t died.

I could do no less.

I shouldered my backpack and slipped on my knife. With slow careful steps I walked over to the door and inched it open. I stepped onto the landing and started to creep downstairs. I stopped on the second floor landing, the door to the library was open, and I could hear a conversation going on. I held my breath and stood very still, and pretended that I was a ghost, unseen and unheard.

“I’m worried George.” It was Lockwood speaking. His voice was rougher than normal, I guessed that he must have been having a hard time with his wolf. “She went bonkers at the fire, I think if she’d managed to get away from me, that she would have run towards the explosion.” It sounded like he was pacing, and I could imagine it too, George lounging in a chair while Lockwood wore out a track in the wood.

“Well, what I’m worried about is the explosion itself. That place is triple checked every hour to make sure that everything is running smoothly. And security was doubled after one of the outlying buildings for the space program blew up.”

I blinked in shock, I hadn’t heard about that.

“You think it was set?”

“I do.”

Lockwood was frowning, I could tell it in his voice. “Do you think . . . do you think that whoever started the explosions could be after Lucy? Trying to finish the whole family off? The explosions started after she arrived in London.”

“It’s possible, I think we should keep her close to us, for safety.”

“That’s a good idea, we also need to question her more in depth about who killed her family, and what the skull is. It had to be something more than a talisman for her to freak out like she did. ”

They might of said more, but it felt like a pit had opened up beneath me. The explosions set to catch me? No, not possible, I would have never been in one of the outlying buildings of the space program. Besides, my family was alive and well. It was just a coincidence. I closed my eyes, breathed out, and left. Thankfully the carpet muffled my footsteps, and I stayed close to the wall on the stairs, where the wood had more support and was less likely to creak. I stopped by the kitchen and grabbed the sandwich on the table, then walked silently towards the door. I placed my hand on the door, the wood was warm, on the roof I could hear the rain drum. 

I could never come back, I couldn’t figure out how to answer their questions without outright lying in the state I was in, and no doubt when they figured out the truth they would throw me onto the street themselves. I took a breath, then opened the door and walked out into the rain. I immediately pulled up my hood and took a bite of my sandwich, walking quickly across the street and away from Thirty Five Portland Row.

As soon as I stepped around the corner of the street and was hidden from the view of the library windows, I stopped and held a hand out to signal a taxi, eating my sandwich in large bites. Once done with that, I pulled out my sunglasses and slipped them on, blinking away the rain from my eyes. Or maybe I was crying again, I couldn’t tell.

Before me, cars whizzed by, in a rush to get home before darkness fell, never mind that the clouds above let no light through. Finally, a taxi screeched to a stop in front of me, I opened the door and stepped in. “Where to?” Said the taxi driver.

I started to pull out money from my backpack. “The flight simulator.” 

“Are you crazy kid? The whole place is on lock down, crawling with feds. They think there's a firebug around, blowing up buildings. It’s not safe for a little girl like you.”

I let my sunglasses slip down my nose and met his eyes in his mirror. His face paled when he saw my pentagram pupils. “It’s not safe for you either,” I said, and my voice was just as cold and numb as I felt, “You never know who needs a taxi after it gets dark.” I smiled, and it wasn’t my normal smile I saw reflected back at me in the mirror, it was Skull’s crazed grin. The taxi driver grabbed for something that hung around his neck and shook. “Now,” I continued, “I’m going to give you this money, and you are going to take me to the flight simulator. You will do this quickly, with no questions, and before you know it, I’ll be gone and this will never have happened.” I reached out and placed the money on his armrest. I made sure to catch his eyes as I did so. “Do you understand me?”

He made a strangled sound.

“Well?”

“Yes,” he choked out.

I smiled and leaned back against the seats. “Good.” He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t say anything. He got me to the flight simulator quickly, and left me there with no more words. Skull would of been proud.

Contrary to the taxi drivers words, the place was abandoned. Had the dark scared them all away? No, that wasn’t it. I rocked back on my heels and shook my head clear as it spun. I could feel it, dozens and dozens of spirits all crowding together with spiteful anger targeted at whoever would dare enter their tomb. It was a hate so strong that I nearly threw up. It had been this pressure from the dead that had driven everyone to do their jobs quickly and leave.

I gripped the strap of my bag tighter and took a deep breath. The ceiling had collapsed inward, the windows blown out, but the outside walls still stood, at least in this portion, farthest from the blast. This building was nothing more than a shell, a hollow thing. Thankfully, though sprawling, the building had only one floor, I wouldn’t have to worry about stepping wrong and sending my foot through a hole. I took another deep breath, forced back the press of emotions from the dead, then reached out and grasped the police tape fluttered before the entrance, ducked under it, and walked inside.

It looked worse from the inside. The walls were scorched and soot stained, and rain had turned the floor into a soup of ash and shrapnel. The ceiling hung limply, like it had been drained of all it energy, allowing the rain to pour in. In the corners of my eyes, I caught glimpses of figures, soft and shadowy. Their hatred pounded against me like waves, but I ignored it. It would be worse the further I went in.

I started to pick my way around the rubble, towards the direction we had run from.  The flight simulators had been closer to the front of the building, but the blast had been large, and I didn’t know what conditions the room would be in. Or if I could even find the room. The place was, had been, a maze. I didn’t know the exact spot, but . . .

I whirled quickly and caught the eyes of one of the grey shapes. “Where are the flight simulators? The ones open to the public?” It stared at me, too startled to leave, mouth gaping. Around me, other shades froze and stared, the waves of hatred abated slightly. “Yes,” I snapped, “I can see you. Now where are the flight simulators!” I yelled the words, and the shade shrank back and pointed. I started off in that direction, ignoring the way the ghosts gathered behind me and the way their hatred spun back into being. 

After the shade had pointed the way, I found it easier. Like I’d thought, the further I went in, the worse it got. Soon, there were no walls standing, and only the buildings to either side and the entrance told me I wasn’t walking in a war zone. I paused, remembering how the flames had licked out the windows and doors, but not blown out the wall. “This explosion, it wasn't natural, was it?” 

Most of the shades said nothing, but one gave me the look of  _ “No, duh.” _

“There’s a trick,” I said slowly to my dead audience, “There a trick that very skilled witches have, though it's more along the lines of the powers of demons.” Most of the things witches knew were stolen from the skills of other beings. “It’s a way of controlling a blast and shaping it to where you want it to go. You don’t even have to be in the vicinity either. If you're really skilled, you can make an object and imbue it with what you want to happen. Whoever did this could of made the bomb, spelled it in a certain way, and that would be that.” My blood ran cold just thinking about it. This place had been caught between two feuding witch clans and paid the price. 

As if they could sense my thoughts, the hatred grew stronger. “Calm down,” I snapped at them, “I didn’t do this.” Something told me they didn’t care, they just wanted someone to pay. And if that someone was a witch, all the better.

I swallowed nervously and started to walk faster, then run. The rain obscured my vision and made the ground slippery, the hoard of angry ghosts that followed on my heels like a pack of hunting dogs did not improve the situation. Suddenly, I wished Skull was there beside me, making rude gestures and shouting insults at my pursuers. My eyes started to tear up, and my foot hit something that sent me sprawling. I hit the ground hard and gasped for breath as my palms burned from where I stopped my fall. I gasped again as something clenched me like a vice, burning my skin. I closed my eyes as shuddered. “Stop,” I croaked and coughed. My skin felt wrong, my blood like it was boiling. “Stop!” I cried again, and abruptly the feeling ceased. I twisted and turned to glare at the ghosts that now hung around me, a ring of shadow figures. “I did nothing to you!” I shouted, tears of pain streaming down my face.

They didn’t reply, but somehow I got the feeling that they didn’t care. That if I didn’t give them a very good reason to spare me, they would kill me now. 

I pushed myself to my feet and glared at them. “Now you idiots listen to me,” I hissed, “You aren’t going to harm a hair on my head, or do whatever you just attempted to do. And I’ll tell you why. If you kill me, you’ll be killing the only person who can help you get proper revenge.” They just stared at me, silent and watching, with their hatred ready like and executioner's axe. “You’re new ghosts, so I’m going to tell you right now. NO ONE IS GOING TO SEE YOU BUT ME! The best you can hope for is to make them uncomfortable, but that's it! No one else can help you get revenge. So what’s going to happen is that you are going to a respectful distance away from me and then once I’m done I’ll get to you. And I will be happy to help.” 

For a second there was nothing, but then the ghosts drifted away as I stood there shaking, realizing that I meant my words. Because if Skull was gone, well and truly gone, I would kill them. I would kill the person who had set that bomb, witch or no. I would kill them, and then if they became a ghost I would kill them again. I would kill them as many times as I had too.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes with my dirty and scratched up hands. Just a little longer, I had to see, I had to make sure. I looked around to get my bearings, and with surprise found myself looking at the destroyed entrance to a room, and the wrecked pod beyond it. Was it possible, just possible that this had been the room? Hesitantly I stepped inside, hands clenched by my side. “Skull?” My voice wavered as I spoke, “Skull, are you there?”

Nothing.

I stepped closer, slowly at first, then faster, until I was crouching by the wrecked pod. It was a mess of twisted iron and steel, of shattered glass and scorched wiring. Most of it was blown apart, but some of it still had its shape. “Skull?”

Nothing.

“Skull?”

Still nothing.

The rain was slowing now, shafts of moonlight piercing through the clouds to land on the devastation below. My shoulders slumped, and I turned to go. Something caught the corner of my eye, something that glittered in the faint light. It wood be metal, it had to be metal. I took a deep breath, and screwed my eyes shut. “Skull?”

Nothing.

With a curse I spun around and started to dig, pushing rocks and iron and glass out of my way. There, something that didn’t hold the shape of torn metal, wedged between a rock and a soot-stained sheet of steel. I cried out and started to push the rock away, it was stubborn and didn’t want to move, but I managed. After that I yanked the sheet of metal away, ignoring how it sliced my palm as I did so. I picked up the object and started to cry again. 

It was his skull, Skull’s skull, blackened and cracked, with shiny patches of melted plastic coated on the bone. I hugged it to my chest, weeping as I fell to my knees. He was . . .  I didn’t know. Okay? Alive as a ghost could be? Or perhaps he’d gone, and only his stupid skull was left. I listened as hard as I could, but all I heard was the drizzle of rain and all I felt was the hatred of the dead. “Oh Skull, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.” I whispered as I weeped. 

_ “Sorry for what? Be careful with that, you might break it.”   _

I shrieked and twisted and nearly fell over as I overbalanced. I managed to save myself from face planting, and instead managed to struggle to my feet. In front of me, arms on his hips, bending down slightly, head tilted with his skeletal grin, was Skull. I gaped at him, fingers gripping his grimy skull. 

_ “What, no words for me?” _

“YOU IDIOT!” I screeched. Skull’s eyes widened slightly as I hefted the skull up as if to through it. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

_ “I am dead.” _

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT YOU STUPID SKULL! I WAS SO WORRIED, AND HERE YOU ARE, NOT A SCRATCH ON YOU!”

_ “Hey, no fair!”  _ He darted by me, grabbed his skull and cradled it in his arms, glaring at me.  _ “I just survived an explosion I’ll have you know. It was a very stressful experience.” _

My hands balled into fists and I took a step forward, gritting my teeth. “I thought you were dead. The least you could have done was come out when I called.”

_ “Now where would the fun be in that?” _

I gave a frustrated growl and lunged at him, wrapping my arms around as I broke down on his shoulder. He froze, and he couldn’t turn incorporeal because he had to hold his skull. I had him. “You stupid skull,” I choked out, “I thought you were dead.”

For the longest time he said nothing, then he shrugged.  _ “Yeah, well, for a second there so did I.”  _ He started to push at me with my free hand.  _ “Leggo, this is embarrassing.” _

“Your a ghost, no one can see you.” But I let go and started to scrub at my cheeks. 

Skull’s eyes widened.  _ “Lucy, you’re hurt.” _

“Didn’t know you cared.”

_ “Shuddup.”  _  He handed me his skull.  _ “Here, why don’t you put this in your bag.”  _ I slipped my backpack off, took his skull and pulled out the clothes I’d taken and wrapped the skull in them. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shades were coming back, and the hatred touched me slightly. Skull sucked in a breath, and I looked up. His eyes were wide, and he drifted off the ground slightly. He’d gone incorporeal again, I could see the debris behind him.  _ “We have company.” _

I stood up, shouldering my bag, and glared around me while Skull drifted closer to my side. He looked uneasy, but I didn’t have the leisure time to wonder why. “You helped me, and I will help you. But first, I need you to describe the one who did this to you.”

They drifted closer, forming a shadow ring around me and Skull. Their hatred pulsed like a heartbeat, and beside me came a whining, growling sound. Cold fingers gripped my arms and squeezed.  _ “Lucy, we have to go. These things are dangerous you know.” _ The normal sarcasm was gone from his voice, and it held no trace of malice either. It was desperate, fearful. I shifted my weight and placed my hand over one of his ghostly ones.

“It’ll be okay,” I said, “We have a deal. Don’t we?” My eyes were picking out the various shapes and the blank staring eye holes. Suddenly, I realized that they reminded me of paper dolls with slashes for their eyes and mouths, except much more wispy.

Skull growled again.

The ghosts advanced, then stood still as one of their numbers stepped closer. It’s form twisted and brightened and warped till it no longer looked like a paper doll but something else entirely. It was darker than dark, man shaped, with eyes that glowed a molten gold and above its head hung a twisted crown of the same color of its eyes.  _ “This is it.”  _ The ghosts chanted.  _ “This is what killed us. And you will send him back to where he came from or we will find you and you will serve as our revenge, witch-child.” _

“Demon,” I whispered, and a pit opened up in my stomach.

Skull growled again, longer and drawn out and this time it sounded like the growl of a much larger beast.

The ghost looked at him and warped again, twisted into some new shape. A tall, tall man in a long dark cloak. His long nose and sharp chin could just be seen, and he had long yellow nails on his wrinkled and spotted hands. 

Skull stopped growling like some switch had been flipped. His fingers dug deeper into my arm, and when I glanced at him, he looked like someone had hit him. His eyes were wide with fear, and he shook. 

I glared at the ghost and gripped Skull’s hand tighter. “Stop.”

The ghost laughed and dispersed into shadowy tentacles that spun backwards towards the ring of shapes. It coalesced back into one of them, and in a blink of an eye they were gone. Their hatred left with them, and suddenly the air was no longer as heavy, and I realized that it was no longer raining.

I turned and gripped Skull’s shoulders hard, he didn’t look like he noticed. He stared at the spot where the cowled man had stood with the air of a rabbit that had sighted a hawk. “Skull! Are you okay?”

He jerked back to reality and pulled away from me, going incorporeal once again. This time he stayed that way.  _ “Yeah, just fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”  _ He grinned, wide and sharp but somehow it was a hair tighter than normal, a hair uncertain.

“You were freaking out!”

_ “What? No I wasn’t!”  _ He crossed his arms.  _ “I just don’t like ghosts that act like a hive mind. That's all.” _

“That man, who was he?”

He stopped smiling, his eyes narrowed.  _ “Him? No one important. Now what we really need to talk about the idiotic deal that you made with those ghosts. Acting like their instrument of revenge, against a demon? Are you crazy? And you know where there's demons, there’s witches. How the hell do you plan on-” _

“LUCY!!!!!! LUCY WHERE ARE YOU!!!”

“LUCY!”

We both froze, eyes wide, staring at each other. Skull raised his arms.  _ “Don’t move. This is what we’re going to do. First, my skull out of my backpack and act like you just found it. Then, follow my lead.” _

I nodded and knelt to do what I was told, Skull knew more about subterfuge then me, and my best tactic, aka avoiding the subject, wouldn’t work. I had heard them, which meant that they had been able to hear me for a while. There was no getting out of this, and I couldn’t run, they would just track me again.

I took a shaky breath, then stood with the skull in my hand, rubbing off ashes with the hem of my jacket sleeve. I looked up when I heard footsteps and gave a shaky smile. “Hi Lockwood, George.”

Lockwood’s face brightened when he saw me, and he rushed over. “Lucy, are you okay?”

George crosses his arms over his chest and glared at me, foot tapping the ground. “Explain.”

_ “I’m fine. I’m sorry I left so suddenly, but I had to make sure the skull was okay and was afraid that you would try to stop me.” _

“I’m fine.” I said shakily, “I’m really sorry I left, but I had to make sure Skull was okay, and I was afraid you would try to stop me. Sorry.”

George looked at Lockwood and raised an eyebrow.  Lockwood smiled back at him and said, “She’s telling the truth.” He took my shoulders and gave them a small shake. “Don’t do that again. Worst comes to worse you could have resummoned your demon.”

Before I could flinch, Skull whispered,  _ “I can’t, I don’t have the power.” _

“I can’t, I don’t have the power. And he is not mine, I found him. And he moved all your stuff around George, I’m sorry. I can’t really control him, he just hangs around. And no one else can see him or hear him and I don’t know why!”

Skull covered his face.  _ “Too much. Lucy shut up!” _

I looked down and bit my lip to stop my frantic babbling. Did what I say count as lying? I didn’t really know what made it so I could see ghosts, so maybe it didn’t. I could feel myself start to cry again, and I ruthlessly stifled sobs. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I stiffened as Lockwood grabbed me up and hugged me. “Don’t be, just don’t do it again.”

I looked in wide eyed panic at George. He shrugged. “If Lockwood’s good with it, I’m good with it. Also, hug him back. We nearly died today, so he’s feeling clingy. Pack instincts and all. It’s why we’re all sleeping in his bed at night.”

‘What?’ I mouthed. He mimed hugging Lockwood, and with a sigh, I hugged Lockwood back with one arm and cradled the skull in the other. He was warmer than I’d expected, probably because he hadn’t been standing in the rain speaking to ghosts. “Come on George,” he called.

“I’m not joining a group hug.”

“George.” There was a bit of growl in his voice.

“Fine, fine, I’m coming. But if I get your clothes dirty don’t complain.” He walked over, and Lockwood dragged him into the hug.

_ “Be careful with my skull you idiots! You’ll break it! And what is this? Affection! Disgusting. Lucy, stab somebody before this . . . this affection starts spreading.” _

I laughed, and before they could say anything, I said. “Something Skull said.” And there was no eye roll, there was no scoff, there was no scornful laughter.

For the first time in a long time I felt safe, secure. I didn’t have to hide my laughter or my anger, I wouldn’t be tossed out on the street for talking to myself. I was safe, and I had friends who actually cared for me. I couldn’t ask for more than that.

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

. . .

 

“How did it go?”

“”

“ A werewolf, a dragon, and a witch?”

“”

“ And they all survived?” 

“”

“What did they do after the explosion?”

“”

“How interesting. Did you follow them?”

“”

“Good job. However, we can’t be too sure. Where do you think we should hit next?”

“”

“The London Eye? Lovely choice. Give me a few days. Take a rest now dear, we want to save your strength. You’ll be needed soon.”


	6. I Went to See if She Was Right / But I Got Distracted by a Tasty Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise, its sleepover time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

We ended up walking home, most taxi’s didn’t run at this time of night, and the ones that did weren’t run by the nicest of people. I don’t think I could have scared anyone else tonight either, I was worn out, the day’s events were catching up to me. Lockwood and George didn’t speak, instead they were stuck in their own silent contemplation. Skull, once he’d quit grumbling, had subsided into an impressive sulk. The safety I had felt before had vanished, and now I held the skull to my chest fearing that someone would ask a question that I couldn’t answer without flat-out lying. Or that Lockwood and George where rolling my words in their head, poking holes into my story.

And the promise I’d made hung like a guillotine over my head.

A demon, that was what the ghost had shifted its form into, a demon. 

A witch I could maybe handle, I could turn her over to a different witch family, find her enemies and use them against her. But a demon? Only the most powerful and skilled witches could control demons. And most witch families would ignore the ones who had people powerful enough to control them. I was royally screwed.

And what was that thing the ghosts had done to me? That had never, ever happened before. Ghost’s weren’t dangerous, most were too weak to do anything, really. But I’d never been at the sight of so many deaths before and after the moment, or been the target of a ghosts anger before. Not like that.

And Skull’s reaction? That wasn’t normal, not for Skull and not for ghosts in general. It must've dealt with the hooded man, but who had he been? Assuming that he was dead.

Lockwood’s arm snapped out in front of me to stop me in my tracks. We’d reached Thirty-five Portland Row and I hadn’t even noticed. Lockwood was sniffing the air, his gold eyes glowing faintly. George was frowning and sniffing as well. I looked at Skull, who tilted his head up and pretended to ignore me. “What’s going on?” I asked, gripping the skull tighter.

George gave another sniff and shrugged. “Vampire.”

I gulped, “Trouble?”

George shrugged again, “Depends on the vampire.” He was watching Lockwood with wary eyes.

Lockwood was leaning forward now, eyes closed, head tilted, taking deep breaths. After a few moments his eyes snapped open and his wide grin split his face. “Kipps!” He howled, and rushed forwards.

The man slouching against the door, who’d been melding into the shadows until Lockwood had called his name, jerked his head up sharply. He was a small, pale ginger, wearing a black turtleneck and black jeans. His eyes were red. “Anthony-” was about as far as he got before Lockwood tackled him around the waist. 

The man looked down at Lockwood and then at us with a disgusted expression and said “Well that explains that.” He awkwardly patted Lockwood’s back with one arm.

“Vampire?” I murmured.

“Vampire,” George affirmed.

_ “Vampire,” _ Skull said in his most horribly disgusted voice.

The man, I guess his name must of been Kipps, said. “I came over when I heard about the explosion, but you guys weren’t here, so I waited,” he caught my eyes, “Who’s the witch?”

I could feel my mouth open to answer, though my mind was trying to catch up with the words. He had such odd eyes, red, but not blood red like I’d expected. They were darker, like garnet, with hints of brighter colors, ruby maybe? 

Skull clamped a hand over my eyes, not that it helped, I could still see Kipps, it just distorted everything.  _ “Don’t look him in the eye,”  _ he hissed in my ear,  _ “Vampires can mesmerize.” _

I blinked rapidly and jerked my gaze away, my jaw snapping shut as horror washed through my veins. I’d almost told him everything. Just one look and I’d almost told him everything. Slowly, Skull removed his cold fingers from my face. 

Lockwood jerked out of the hug and grinned at Kipps, his white teeth flashing in the gloom. “She’s our new tenant! Her name’s Lucy.”

Kipps raised one eyebrow. “Have you told Jessica, or your parents?”

Lockwood winced.

“I see.” Kipps drawled. He glanced at George as he stepped away from Lockwood. He had a fluid kind of grace, different from Lockwood’s, as if he were part smoke or liquid. “George, what a delight.” His tone indicated that it wasn’t a delight at all.

“Kipps,” George said, his tone blander then bland. “Almost didn't recognize you. New cologne? One that doesn’t smell of ferret? Or is it a new turtleneck? Can never tell with you, everything you wear looks the same.”

Kipps sneered at him, and I could see the sharp points of his teeth. “Well then, now that I know you’re alright, I better go contact Jessica.” He started to move, the shadows around him getting darker.

Lockwood grabbed his arm. “Wait no! Stay the night please.” He smiled, so wide and bright with all his teeth showing. It was his alpha call, only this time it wasn’t directed at me.

Kipps rocked back on his heels, but he didn’t crumple under all those teeth. “Your family needs to know you’re safe. And they need to know about your new tenant.”

“You can use the house phone. I’ll even contact them myself. Please!” His smile somehow stretched wider.

Kipp’s winced, then sighed and hissed out “Fine. But you better have a room ready for me.”

Lockwood’s beam got brighter. “You can use the spare room.”

Kipp’s eyes flicked towards me, and I tried not to wince. “The spare room?” I figured I would be stuck with the attic room.”

“I wanted the private bathroom,” I said quickly.

His eyes flicked towards George and he wrinkled his nose. “Understandable.”

George snorted, loudly.

Skull chuckled, it was his dark, hoarse chuckle, and it felt good to hear it. 

Lockwood unlocked the door and opened it wide with a flourish. “Well then, come on in.”

Kipps moved so fast he wasn’t even a blur, and Lockwood followed him. I grabbed George’s arm before he followed them in. “What did you mean, earlier,” I asked, “about sleeping in Lockwood’s bed tonight?”

George just looked at me. “His pack is separated right now, and normally he can deal with that. But not tonight, not after the explosion. He needs his pack close, and we’re part of his pack now.” He raised an eyebrow. “If it makes you feel better, he will be in wolf form, and you can sleep on the opposite side of the bed as me. The bed’s big enough. And Kipps won’t actually sleep with us, he’s a vampire, its nighttime, he’ll just be doing rounds around the house or hanging out in the room.”

Skull decided that was a perfect time to but in.  _ “Yes, while you're sleeping. Totally fine to sleep in a room with a vampire about.” _

“That’s comforting,” I murmured. But George was already walking forward and into the house, where warm light shone through the windows and spilled out of the doorway. Last chance, I could still leave, still run. I looked at Skull. He was gazing at the street. “You good?”

He looked back at me.  _ “I thought I saw something.” _

I smiled at him. “Probably nothing. You ready?”

_ “Born ready.” _

I grimaced and stepped inside, George and Kipps were talking softly at the kitchen table. It looked like half bickering and half actual discussion. Skull winked at me and swaggered over. I ran upstairs, closed my door, set the skull on the bed, and had just slipped off my jacket when I noticed the set of pajamas on the bed. They looked old and worn, but well cared for. Had Lockwood put them there for me?

I decided not to question my luck, and pulled them on. They were a little bit too big for me, but warm. I reached out to grab the skull, then stopped myself. He could reach the basement from here, and with a vampire making rounds he should be fine. But my throat closed up with the thought of leaving his skull out of my sight. I grabbed it up and left the room.

In the kitchen George and Kipps were still bickering. Skull was making horrendous faces and shooting rude gestures at them. I slunk over to the counter and started to make a warm cup of tea. George saw me and broke off his argument. “One for me too, please.”

“Tea,” said Kipps said softly, “I remember tea.” He gave me a sharp look. “Those are Jessica’s old pajamas.”

“Oh,” I said, “I found them on my bed.” My hands moved automatically on my task, short time that it had been, I still knew where the tea was and how much milk and cream Lockwood and George took. “Kipps,” I asked when the silence went to long, “How do you know Lockwood?”

“I’m his godfather.” He said blandly.

_ “He’s what!”  _ Skull hissed in the sudden silence.

“I’ve known the family forever,” Kipps continued, “Was around when his parents were growing up. His mother's best friend, his father’s wingman, and his and Jessica’s godfather.” He smirked.

“Which is pretty impressive since he can’t score a date of his own.” George said, grinning slightly.

Kipps just gave him a look, then he locked eyes with me. “How did you meet Lockwood?”

I jerked my eyes away quickly, I didn’t even need Skull’s  _ “Hey, don’t do that to my witch!”  _  to look away. 

“I’d entered the city on a full moon, and Lockwood ran me down.” That was vague enough.

“Literally.” George snorted.

_ “Your face was pretty funny to see.”  _ Skull was grinning, wide and sharp.

I was saved from whatever questions were next when Skull, George, and Kipps jerked their heads up. “Well,” George said, “He’s done shifting.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I said as I passed him his cup of tea. I sat down on the couch, my fingers wrapped around my own cup. Skull leaned over behind me, and the hairs on my neck raised slightly. 

_ “George was quizzing the vamp on types of demons. Luckily for us, most vampires don’t hang around witches often, and that goes the same for this one. Unluckily for us, the vampire reminded George that they have that witch friend, Holly Munroe, that they could ask. Ohhhhh look, that's an odd coat color.”  _

I jerked my head up. George had let Lockwood in from where he’d been changing, and now the werewolf sat in the entrance on the kitchen, tail wagging. I hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of him that night, just teeth and claws, and I hadn’t met many other werewolves, but I was pretty sure that Skull was right and it was an unusual coat color. He was a big wolf, on the slimmer side, with more to grow if the size of his paws was anything to go with. As for his coat . . . well if he’d been a cat it would have been called a tuxedo pattern.

I gaped at him. “Lockwood?”

Lockwood opened his jaws in a wolfy smile that showed too many teeth and wagged his tail even faster.

I drew my feet up onto the couch and sipped my tea in nervous silence. Lockwood walked over and set his muzzle onto the couch beside me, staring at me morosely. “No, you’re no getting my tea.” I hedged.

George snorted, and Kipps rocked back in his chair and set his feet on the table. Beside my ear, Skull whispered,  _ “Please tell me there are dog biscuits somewhere, that would just be perfect!” _

Lockwood sighed at me and gave me an impressive puppy-dog eye look. “Scratch him behind the ear,” Kipps said calmly, but he was grinning widely, and I could see the sharp points of his teeth glinting in the kitchen light.

I wasn’t going to touch Lockwood’s ears with a ten foot pole, but Skull grabbed my wrist and dragged my hand over to Lockwood. The wolf sighed as I started to scratch. His fur was thicker than I thought it would have been, softer too. 

This was fine, completely fine.

Lockwood leaned into my hand, then jumped onto the couch beside me, circled once, then flopped all over me. I barely managed to maneuver my tea cup away in time. He stuck his head in my lap and sighed.

George started to snort, Kipps just grinned, and Skull howled in malicious glee somewhere behind me.

“Now what?” I hissed at them.

“Now,” said George, “we finish our tea before Lockwood falls asleep, then we go to bed.”

“He’s heavy!” I protested, then I looked down at Lockwood, “Don’t give me that look, you are.”

He just opened one amber eye and looked at me.

“Better finish you’re tea quickly then.” Kipps stated, then he stood. “Well I’m going to call Jessica sense Anthony has indisposed himself. You three have fun.” He left the room in a smoky haze.

Skull met my eye and saluted, then followed Kipps by walking through the wall. I almost frowned, but stopped myself. He was avoiding me. Normally I’d have to bribe or beg for him to listen in on conversations. What was going on with him?

George nodded at the skull on my lap, perilously close to where Lockwood’s muzzle lay. Sneaky werewolf! He just wanted to get to the skull! “Is your invisible friend okay?”

I picked the skull up and wedged it between me and the couch so Lockwood would have a harder time reaching it. He grumbled slightly, but subsided when I started to speak. “I’m not sure. The explosion shook him up badly. He’s gone to listen in on Kipps. Voluntarily. Normally I’d have to bribe him or something. He never helps out voluntarily.”

_ “Hey!”  _ Skull’s voice called from the other room.  _ “I resemble that remark!” _

I smiled slightly and took another sip of tea. George hadn’t answered by the time I’d finished with my cup of tea. His own sat forgotten on the table, his eyes staring out into nothing. FInally, he said, “I haven’t met any demons before. In fact, I’ve only met one, and she never answered any of my questions. Tried to kill me in fact. But I’ve heard that most demons are troublesome and nasty and hate needing to lean on anyone but themselves. If he’s acting weird, you should be careful.”

“Yeah.”

“Also,” finally he reached out and put the tea cup to his lips, “Is it possible that the explosion was set for you?”

“What?” A pit opened up in my stomach.

“When you first came here, you said that what killed your family wasn't dangerous to us. Is it possible that you had overestimated you ability to go undetected and was tracked? And that the explosion was set to finish you off?”

My gut twisted. They were the ones who’d assumed that my family was dead. That they had been wiped out. I hadn’t been lying when I said there was no threat because their had been no threat to begin with. I looked at George and met his eyes, they were cold and calculating, but I thought I saw worry in their depths. I buried my fingers into Lockwood’s fur and took a deep breath. “It’s not possible.”

George frowned. “Why not?” Lockwood scrambled up to look at me, amber eyes piercing.

“It’s dead,” I murmured. It wasn’t a lie, technically. Ghosts were dead, after all.

He blinked rapidly. “What?”

“It’s dead,” I said, a little bit stronger.

George sat back in his chair and stared at me. “Oh.” He blinked again. “If that’s the case, why did you leave? It would have been safer to stay at your home, especially if it sat on a ley-line.”

My hands curled into fists, and I screwed my eyes shut. My home was on a ley-line, though it hadn’t helped me in the slightest. “No, it wouldn’t have. Eventually, another witch clan would have moved in, and I would have been helpless. I have no power, being near a ley-line can’t solve that problem. I needed a new start, a place to disappear. And what better place than London?”

George stared at me for a little bit, before saying “Ah,” and knocking back the rest of his tea. “Well then, lets go to bed.” He got up and put his cup in the sink. Lockwood scrambled off of the couch and walked out the kitchen door, and stopped to stare at me, before continuing on. I stood up, grabbed the skull, and dumped my cup in the sink.

Something cold grabbed my arm.  _ “Lucy.” _ I half turned, Skull was staring at me with wild eyes.  _ “You’re not actually going to sleep with them! Are you?”  _ He looked vaguely uncomfortable, worried. For me? Nah, not Skull.

I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t affect you, you’re-” I stopped myself before I said dead.

He screwed up his face.  _ “I’m not sleeping with them.” _

I rolled my eyes again. “Nobody asked you to.”

I made my way to Lockwood’s room. The door was open, and I could see Lockwood laying in the middle of the bed. George was lying on his right side, a comic open in his hands. I walked over to Lockwood’s left side and set the skull on the bedside table. I swallowed at the sight of the blackened and cracked bone. 

I sat down and slid under the covers. Kipps poked his head into the room and hit the lights, a phone in his hands. His eyes glowed in the darkness, a vivid, pulsing red. “Night kids.” He walked out, and I could hear his muffled voice. Skull had slipped in to stand in the corner, staring at us. He still looked oddly vulnerable, and he didn’t offer a scathing remark or a dirty joke.

I smiled at him and murmured, “Night everyone.”

Lockwood gave a soft woof, George grumbled something unintelligible, and Skull just closed his eyes and grimaced. I rolled my eyes a third time, curled up, and allowed my exhaustion to crash down up on me. I thought, though this could've been my imagination, that the bed to my other side dipped slightly before I fell fully asleep.

 

. . .

 

I woke up to a face full of fur. I was burning up, but my backside was freezing. I scooted a few inches away from Lockwood, who I’d wrapped around in my sleep, and on his other side, I could see the snoring form of George. Okay, problem of burning up solved, now to figure out why I was half frozen. 

I turned over to my other side so my poor, frozen back could steal some of Lockwood's warmth. Blearily, I blinked at Skull, who lay on the edge of the bed beside me, his skull held in his hands. He turned it over and said softly,  _ “We got lucky.” _

“Wha?” I managed.

_ “Why did you come back?”  _ He twisted the skull till it’s eye sockets met his own faintly glowing orbs. 

“Why would I not come back?” I asked, once my brain had fumbled its way through his question.

Skull set the skull on his chest and stared at the ceiling.  _ “He wouldn’t of.” _

“He who?” I was more awake now, “The man in the robes?”

Skull stilled, then turned his head towards me. He gave off his own soft glow in this dark room, and beneath his faintly transparent skin I could see the outline of his bones.  _ “He’s no one.” _

“You’re a bad liar.”

He made a face.  _ “Fine, him. He wouldn’t have come back for me, so why did you?” _

It was my turn to frown. “Because, I’d like to think that after all we’ve been through, that we’re friends. Friends don’t leave friends behind.” I paused to let that sink in. “Besides, I don’t think of you as a friend anymore. Skull, you’re family, the closest thing to family that I have. And I promise to never leave you behind again.”

He froze, even the soft light pouring from him stilled. Then he turned his face from me and gripped his skull with tighter fingers.  _ “He reminds me of him.” _

That wasn’t what I’d expected. “Who?”

_ “Lockwood.” _

I lowered my voice. “Lockwood reminds you of the guy who left you for dead?”

_ “People want to follow the both of them, and they have the same intensity. Lockwood just hasn’t shown his yet.”  _ He smiled, and this time it was his wide, vicious grin. It made me want to cheer.  _ “Think on that when you sleep.” _

I yawned in his face. “You know what? I will. Sweet dreams, my unpleasant friend.”

He snorted,  _ “Whatever.” _

I grinned and turned over to stick my nose in Lockwood's fur. It had been starting to get numb.

 

. . .

 

Holly Munroe

12:05 AM

Hey Holly, I need some information.

What can you tell me about demons who are tied to objects and are invisible to everyone but one person?

6:45 AM

George, what are you doing texting me at midnight? I don’t know much about demons, they aren’t the Munroe family specialty. However, I might be able to persuade Grandmother to let you access the family library. You might find some information there.

And George, there's something wrong with your witch friend. I haven’t heard of any reports of a witch family being eradicated. It is possible that if the family was way out in the country, the news wouldn’t have made to London yet, but it is extremely unlikely.

8:50 AM

Huh, I’ll keep it in mind.

Access to your library would be great.

1:27 PM

Grandmother agreed, the library is yours to explore.

Thanks.

Be there soon.

You never told me why you were up so late.

Lockwood is a bed hogger.

And I had much more interesting things to do then sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm a dork and wanted to figure this out here's everyone's approximate ages:  
> Skull: ???  
> Kipps: 230  
> George: 16 in dragon years, 160 in human years  
> Holly: 19  
> Lockwood:18  
> Lucy: 17


	7. She's Beauty, She's Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast, Jessica, Skull no, and bonding over self defense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have given up on coming up with rhymes, so its about to go a little wild with these chapter titles.

The next morning came, and so did breakfast. I couldn’t see Kipps, but the breakfast laid out in the kitchen suggested that he’d been busy before turning in. I leaned towards George and whispered, “Should I be worried that the vampire made breakfast?”

_ “Of course you should, duh.”  _ Skull poked one of the heaps of eggs,  _ “Hey, this stuff’s still warm!” _

George walked over to make a plate. “You shouldn’t, and besides, if Kipps has one thing going for him, it’s that he’s a great cook.”

“You guys really don’t like each other, do you?” I grabbed a bagel, and Skull was right, it was still warm.

George shook his head as he sat down. “Nope.”

“Why?” I finished packing my plate and sat down.

George just gave me a look and started to eat. Skull drifted away from the food and looked up at the ceiling, a curious, eager expression on his face.  _ “I’ll be right back.” _

I followed his gaze up and grimaced. That was the direction of the guest room Kipps was in. “No, you’re staying here. You are not yanking the curtains away from the widows.” 

_ “I want to see if he burns!”  _

“I said no.”

Skull’s eyes flashed, and he grabbed a bagel and threw it at me. Someone, more specifically Lockwood, caught it. He looked at the bagel curiously, then at George and I. “Lively morning we’re having,” he said cheerfully, then stuffed the bagel in his mouth.

_ “Spoilsport,”  _ Skull griped, and he leaned against the counter, alternately glaring and making faces at Lockwood. I kept my eye on him, even if the faces were horrible. The minute I looked away, he would be gone, trying to make Kipp’s unlife a unliving hell.

George just snorted and eyed Lockwood’s pristine suit with distaste. I smothered a smile as Lockwood walked right through Skull and shivered. Skull growled with annoyance and stuck his nose in the air, his little game abandoned. It felt like any other day, except there was a vampire upstairs, we’d all nearly died last night, and they now knew about Skull. It almost felt like life was returning to some semblance of normal, a better normal. 

There was a knock at the door.

Lockwood froze.

George whistled. “Here already? That was fast.”

There was another knock, this time accompanied with a sharp, “Anthony.”

“Who’s that?” I asked, because Lockwood’s already pale face had gone dead white.

“That was me,” said a woman's voice at the entrance of the kitchen, and we all twisted around to look, even me. Luckily, Skull now had something much more interesting than rekilling Kipps on his mind. 

The woman was obviously related to Lockwood, with a similar cast to her face, and amber eyes and  dark, wavy hair, which was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She also stood in the loose, ready way that most werewolves did. But that was where the similarities ended and the differences begin. Her clothes were simple, a loose summer dress compared to Lockwood’s too tight suit. And where Lockwood gave off the air of “High, I’m a werewolf, how are you?” she gave off the air of “Yes, I’m a werewolf. And if you get in my way, I will run you over.” She was confident, commanding, and probably the most important part, angry. “Anthony?” She asked, and there were a million questions in that one, sharp word.

_ “Ooooooohhhhh, somebody’s in trouble.” _

Lockwood winced. “Hi Jessica, how are you? How’d you get in?”

George’s chewing suddenly sounded very loud in the resulting silence, as Lockwood silently facepalmed at his own dumb question. How’d you get in, indeed.

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “I have a key, brother dear, as you very well know.” Her voice was cloyingly sweet, thick with honey and sarcasm, and eyes glanced over us, calm, calculating, and I felt like I was being pinned to the table and examined. Then she suddenly smiled, bright white teeth flashing. It was like Lockwood’s grin, but ten times more blinding. “Do you two mind if my brother and I have a talk?” Her eyes flicked towards Lockwood, “In private?”

Lockwood whimpered.

“No, not at all,” I said at the same time George said “Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” her eyes flicked towards the couch, “Interesting. Come on Anthony.” She turned, dress swirling, and glided away from the kitchen entrance, Lockwood trailing in her wake, looking more like a puppy that had chewed up the best pair of shoes in the whole house with every minute.

Skull burst out laughing, hoarse and unpleasant after the music of Jessica’s voice.  _ “Someone’s going to die!”  _ He sang, and eventually his laughter trailed off into dark chortles. 

I blinked. George blinked. We looked at each other. “What just happened?” I asked, my head felt clouded, foggy.

“I think,” George said after a moment's pause, “we just got hit by a metaphorical train.”

 

. . .

 

Lockwood followed Jessica into their bedroom, and stood hesitantly as she closed the door. Her amber eyes were glowing, not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. “Anthony,” she began, then gave a frustrated growl and rushed forward, yanking him into a bone crushing hug. “You absolute idiot! You could of died! You almost died! And you didn’t contact me afterwards to tell me if you were alright!” She pulled back and shook him, “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me!” Then she yanked him back into the hug, shoulders shaking.

Lockwood hugged her back, his sister’s familiar scent calming his racing heart. Angry and worried, yes, but pissed? No, not really. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

Jessica sighed, then nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, well, it’s not as if you could have known that the place would be the target of a terrorist.” She pulled back and looked into his eyes, and gave him a half smile. “Now tell me Anthony, why there is a witch in are house that is not Holly, and why is her scent in our room?”

Lockwood shrugged. “There’s not much to say. Me and George ran into her a little while ago, and she didn’t have any place to go.” He closed his eyes and grimaced. “Her family's dead, and she’s alone, so we let her stay a few nights and before I knew it,” he shrugged and grinned sheepishly, “she was pack. She and George ended up sleeping here last night, so.” He shrugged again, Jessica knew pack bonds, she’d understand.

Jessica’s eyes softened and she nodded. “It’s not my place to say whether she can stay or whether she’ll have to go, you’ll have to talk to Mom and Dad, but I’ll speak up for you. Your instincts are good, good enough to suss out if she was going to be a danger. However,” She grinned in sly amusement, “I will not protect you from Mom’s wrath when she sees what a mess you’ve made of her furniture.”

Lockwood laughed nervously, then asked, “Will you be staying? Or will you be leaving again?”

Jessica lifted her chin, and a bit of growl entered her words. “I’ll be staying. It’s time.”

Lockwood smiled, bright and blinding. “Good.”

 

. . .

 

“So,” I asked after an extended pause where George continued to chow down on his food and I stared awkwardly at the wall, “should we be worried?”

_ “Totally should be. He’s dead Jim, no coming back from that, can’t you hear him screaming? Gosh, you really are deaf.” _

“Nah,” George shook his head, “Jessica acts tough, but only when Lockwood does something monumentally stupid.”

_ “LIES! ALL LIES!!” _

I somehow, with great effort, did not throw my food at Skull. Which was probably a good thing, because it would go right through him and splatter against the cushions of the sofa, where he was now laying. I settled for giving him a glare. He responded with a rude gesture.

“Hey Lucy, what area of London are you from again?” George was staring at his phone intently, eyes glinting behind his glasses. 

“Uh, rural North England, why?”

“No particular reason.”

I looked at Skull. Skull looked at me and whispered dramatically,  _ “They’re on to you.” _ I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but worry still shot through me.

“Is that a breakfast made by Kipps? How delightful, it's been a while.” That sweet voice, no longer cloying, belonged to Jessica.

I jumped, hand jerking towards my waist. But I wasn’t wearing my knife, and Skull’s skull was on the table, and my fingers hit nothing but air. Skull slow clapped, grinning like the maniac he was, while Jessica waltzed past and Lockwood grabbed a seat at the table. He looked more relieved now, and he was smiling. “Yeah, it has been, hasn’t it? Jessica, meet Lucy, Lucy, meet Jessica.” 

“Hi.” I offered. Skull, ever helpful, blew a raspberry.

Jessica smiled at me, but this time it wasn’t a smile backed up alpha’s call, it was just a smile. “Hello to you too. Welcome to the family, for now at least.” I wasn’t sure if that last part was meant to be a threat or not, so I just smiled back and ate a bite of breakfast.

Skull had other ideas.  _ “Lucy! That’s a threat! She’s threatening you! Quick! Where’s your knife! Stab her!” _

I glared at him. Was he being more obnoxious to cover up his lack of murderous intent last night? Was he trying to throw me off the scent of something? Something I had missed? 

Jessica followed my glare. “What are you looking at?”

I sighed, “My invisible friend’s an asshole.”

_ “Hey! I resemble that remark!” _

“Ahh, demon or familiar?”

I froze. 

_ “Wow, you walked yourself into that one.” _

Luckily, George answered before my hesitation became overtly obvious. “Demon. I’ll be figuring out which type today.”

I looked at Skull.

Skull looked at me.

I was so doomed.

Jessica nodded. “Good idea George. I also have something to do. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Her gaze locked onto Lockwood’s. “Don’t leave the house without telling me.” Then she strode from the room, and there was the sound of the front door slamming shut. 

George raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

Lockwood nodded. “Now.”

“Now what?” I asked, because once again I had the feeling that I’d missed something obvious.

Lockwood shrugged. “She’s going to challenge Steve Rotwell for control of the London pack. Well, issue challenge technically, it will take a couple of days for it to go through.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Skull, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow and looked mildly impressed.

George nodded, and got up. “I’ve got to go too. I have a few things to research at the library. I’ll be gone most of the day.” Some part of me relaxed, there wasn’t much he could find at the library that wasn’t complete superstition.

“Okay, have fun.” Lockwood called.

“Bye.” I added.

_ “Come back never.”   _ Then Skull looked at me, grinning his wide, violent grin.  _ “And don’t think I’ve forgotten Lucy, you haven’t had your second round of knife fighting.” _

I remembered him bearing down on me with that kitchen knife, and chills ran up and down my spine. I looked at Lockwood and asked, “Do you know any self defense moves?”   
He blinked in surprise. “Yeah.”

“Do you think you could teach me?”

His expression brightened while Skull cried coward in the background. “Yeah. Just let me finish breakfast.”

Approximately thirty minutes and all the food gone later, Lockwood was pushing the furniture to the very edges of the living room. Skull “helped” by dragging the couch in the kitchen to the other side of the kitchen, only moving it when Lockwood was making too much noise to hear him. I stood there awkwardly, completely unhelpful, as Lockwood asked. “What do you know?”

“When in doubt, run away?” I offered.

_ “NO! It’s when in doubt, stab someone. Sheesh!” _

“Huh,” Lockwood muttered as he finished pushing the last piece of furniture into place. “Then I guess we’ll start with wrist grabs.” He walked over and held his arms out. “Grab my wrists.” I did so. “Tighter, as if you’re actually trying to restrain me.” I tightened my grip and he nodded. “Good, now, watch my hands.” Slowly, hands open, he rotated them till they lay atop my forearms, then pushed. My hands flew away as if they’d never been there. “Got it?”

“I think so.”

“Good, then it’s your turn.” He grabbed my wrists, not as tight as he could grab, but about as tight as a human could.

I did the motion, and his hands were wrenched away from my wrists. His eyes brightened slightly. “That was good for your first try! Now I’m going to show you a few more, and then we’ll switch to escapes. These won’t really help with anything that has supernatural strength, but against other witches and ordinary humans it should work fine. And you never know with everything else. You might get lucky and hit a nerve cluster.”

_ “I hate to admit it,”  _ Skull spat from where he was unscrewing a light-bulb from the chandelier.  _ “But the pup has a point.” _

As if he could distract me. “Put that back!” Lockwood’s face went blank.

Skull froze.  _ “Put what back?” _

“The light-bulb, what else could I possible mean?”

Skull looked at the light-bulb, then at me, then back at the light-bulb, then back at me.  _ “You mean this light-bulb?” _

I groaned and decided the best course of action would probably be to ignore him. Lockwood gave me a curious stare. “You’re invisible friend," he guessed.

“Yep,” I growled.

“Ahh.” He nodded sagely, then said. “Let’s try this a couple more times.”

  
  



	8. She Just Punched Him in the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Challenge and a theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance.

One Week Later

 

The place was crowded, the press of bodies made the air stuffy and warm. Suddenly my jacket didn’t seem like such a good idea, although my backpack forced people to give me space. However, Skull’s presence at my back was as effective as a bucket of ice water dumped on my head, so I wasn’t too warm. Lockwood was to my right, practically vibrating with energy. Beside him was Kipps, who stood still as if that would make everyone ignore his presence. On my other side was George, whose glasses shone in the light, and beside him was Holly, nervously fiddling with her hair. Around our little group was people, lots of people. Anywhere from twenty to thirty were packed tightly in this room.

And all of them where werewolves.

In front of us was a clear space, a circle forcing everyone out and to the sides. In the circle stood two people. One was Jessica, she was wearing another summer dress, it was like those loose summer dresses where all she owned. This one was white with blue piping on its collar and sleeves. Her hair was drawn back into its customary ponytail. Her eyes glowed a wild amber. Facing her was the man I assumed to be Steve Rotwell. He was big, bulky, hairy, and his eyes where the same hard amber as Jessica’s, but for all his brutish looks there was something charismatic about him.

Beside him, Jessica looked frail and weak, some dainty and pure thing that needed to be protected. 

I didn’t buy it.

Jessica had helped Lockwood with some of our self defense lessons. She was fast, she was strong, she was clever, and probably most important of all, she was determined and ruthless and dangerous. At least as dangerous as Steve Rotwell.

“You know,” Lockwood murmured in my ear, “I think this is the first Challenge in history that has had two witches, a demon, a dragon, and a vampire in attendance.” He may of said it quietly, but I had no doubt that most of the people in this room had heard the words.

“You’re probably right.” I murmured back, while Skull gave a throaty chuckle. I did not mention the two or three ghosts that I’d seen flitting through the Rotwell estate, all thin and wispy and barely there. All of them had probably died right there in the ring Jessica now stood in. I didn’t want to walk by this building and see Jessica’s pale, ghostly face in one of the windows.

_ “This will be bloody.”  _ Skull sang into my ear.  _ “The Rotwell’s aren’t known for accepting yields. There is a reason the family has held position as Alpha for centuries.” _

I licked my dry lips and whispered, “Is Alpha chosen by descent or by Challenge?”

“Always Challenge,” George commented, “Steve Rotwell killed his father Jim in this very room. Jim killed his father Tom in this room as well. Almost three hundred years of a Rotwell leading the pack in total. Steve’s getting old, we all knew someone was going to challenge soon.”

“But none of us,” said a voice that rumbled and growled as if it were speaking around a mouthful of very large, sharp teeth, “thought it would be the oldest child of the family of Loners who decided to cry Challenge.” It was Steve Rotwell, his eyes baleful as he glared at Jessica.

_ “He’s going to make an example of her.”  _ Skull whispered, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up,  _ “He’s going to make her death bloody and violent to make sure no one else gets ideas. Guts spilled on the floor, blood flung in the air, bones cracked one by one.”  _

I gritted my teeth but didn’t say anything.

_ “You should look away Lucy,”  _ his voice was oddly serious, I could feel his words stirring the hair beside my ear, I could feel his cold fingers grip my shoulder hard.  _ “You do not want to see this.” _

“It is because you never thought a Lockwood would cry Challenge is why I must do this.” Jessica’s voice was music after Rotwell’s rough growl, but there was no trace of a smile on her lips, no hum of Alpha’s Call beneath her words. “I have seen the way the world is turning, and I know the path you have set the Pack to follow is not the right one. You are stuck in the traditions of the past. You need someone fresh to lead you.” Her voice was directed at the werewolves in the room, but her eyes never wavered as she watched Rotwell for any sign of movement.

“And you think you’re the one to do it?” He snarled the words.

“I think anyone who is conscious of what is going on outside these walls can do it. I think anyone who is willing to see the truth can do it. I think you could do it to if you stopped holding fast to things that will no longer work.” Her words were calm, her face composed, but her body shifted slightly, her center of gravity lowering. “We can no longer hide in this false darkness.” Her eyes left Rotwell, they swept over the crowd. “We all know what happened three days ago. Three days ago the London Eye was targeted by a terrorist attack. Three bombs went off in the area. Countless humans, ten wolves, three witches, and a vampire and her drones were caught in the blast. It is suspected that this is the same person who targeted the Flight simulator and other buildings in the recent past.”

“We all know that.” Rotwell sneered.

“But did you know that the culprit is a witch?” Her voice was soft. “Holly Munroe was close to the scene of the London Eye bombing. Right before the explosion, she sensed the presence of a demon. None of the witches in the area had knowledge or the power for demonology. Additionally, she managed to get a hold of one of the devices that caused the explosion. There were traces of both witchcraft and demonic energies on them.” 

There was a sudden hush as everyone in the room turned to Holly and stared. She gave a trembling smile and tilted her head up and met their gaze with her own eyes. For a second, her pentagram pupils flashed silver.

Jessica turned back to Rotwell. “Do you not think that the human police know this to? It is obvious that these bombings have a supernatural origin. So the police cannot hunt this killer. But neither can the supernatural community, as the majority of the killings were human. Dealing with our own problems while refusing to cross paths will no longer work. To catch this killer, we will need help from both human and supernatural communities. Yet they are too afraid to approach us, so we must be the ones who approach.”

“And why us wolves?” Rotwell’s eyes were flashing with anger now.

“Why-” I murmured, but Lockwood already knew what I was going to ask.

“It is custom for a Challenger to proclaim why they have cried Challenge before the fight. The Pack has final say.” He murmured back.

_ “They will support her,”  _ Skull growled,  _ “She has it too.” _

“Who else?” Jessica cried, her arms spread, her eyes glowing even brighter. “The fae? They retreated to Underhill long ago, they no longer care about this world. The witches? The witch families power structure isn’t stable enough for one family to make peace talks. No witch family can lead, not when their infighting is constant. The vampires? Once again, the vampires have no one voice to speak for all of them. The dragons? They do not have one voice to speak for all of them either. We are the only ones who can do this.” 

“Well, my wolves,” Rotwell’s voice was dark and thick, “What do we say? Shall we grant this naive child the right to cry Challenge?”

“Yes!” Came the howl, from dozens of throats.

“Well then,” his face twisted, “Challenge it is.” 

I did not see who moved first. I did not catch the whole fight. Just flashes. Flash. A face, twisted and distorted, eyes narrowed and blazing. Flash. Blood droplets suspended in the air, glittering like rubies, then falling to the ground. Flash. Two opponents backs to each other, both breathing hard, shoulders shaking, clothes torn, skin broken and bruised and bleeding, fingers curled into claws. Flash. The twist of a dress as Jessica spun out of the way of an attack. Flash. Jessica holding Rotwell face down, a knee driven into his back, the claws of one hand biting into his wrist, the claws of the other testing the skin of his throat. A word, heavy with a strained growl.

“Yield.”

“Never.”

“YIELD!”

“If you want to be Alpha, you must kill for it.”

Flash.

A spray of blood as a throat was ripped out.

Flash.

A sickening pop as a head was rotated 180 degrees.

A howl, single and solitary and mourning. Then joined by another and another till the room vibrated with the sound.

Jessica pushed herself to her feet and stepped away from the body of what used to be Steve Rotwell. Sometime during the fight her pony tail had been ripped out, and now her dark hair hung in long, bloody tangles. She was bleeding from a dozen different spots, her white dress now hung heavy and was stained red. She had claw marks across her face from where hadn’t moved out of the way quick enough. She put most of her weight on one leg, the other showed a glimpse of bone.

The room fell silent waiting for their new Alpha to speak.

Jessica looked up, her amber eyes no longer glowed. “He had been a great man, and he lead you well for many years. It is truly a shame that he refused to move with the times. It was an honor to fight him, and I wished I did not have to steal his life from you. He will be remembered.” She threw her head back and howled, it was celebratory and grieving, it was joyous and sad, it was an utterly inhuman sound that could never have been contained in a human throat.

The rest of her Pack joined in her howl.

I swallowed and looked at my group. Lockwood was howling with the rest, there were tear tracks on his cheeks. Kipps had his shoulders hunched, he watched Jessica with a mix of pride and sorrow. George’s face was impassive, his eyes hidden behind the shine of his glasses. Holly looked slightly pale, but resolute. She met my eyes and smiled softly. Around us the howl continued, powerful and horrible and glorious and more. It rattled my bones and thrummed in my core. It felt like my world was spinning around and around and around and the only solid thing was Skull’s coldness on my back.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, and I turned and started to push my way out of the throng. Steve Rotwell’s body hung in my mind’s eyes, neck twisted, throat gaping, eyes glazed over. It was funny how such a strong, powerful man now looked so weak in my memories, knowing that he was destined to die. Knowing that he might rise and know I was there.

I found the door, pushed them open and stumbled out of the room. It was a grand hallway, with lots of niches. I ran down it, panting, found a niche, hid in it’s shadows, sank to the floor, sucked in great big breaths of cold air, dimly became aware of Skull saying my name over and over and over. 

I looked up. “Yes?”

_ “I told you it wouldn’t be pretty.”  _ He was leaning against the wall opposite of me, his eyes glittered coldly in the shadows.  _ “Mind you, I thought it would be Jessica laying on the floor dead.” _

“Stop.” I murmured. “Just stop. I’ve seen dead bodies before. That’s not it.” It was the way they mourned, it was the way they celebrated, it was the way it was a ceremony, it was that howl with everything in it.

_ “I guess it’s not the death then. Sometimes I forget you're a witch, you’ve seen plenty of death. Just not human death.” _

“First dead human body was the man who was stabbed. First night in London.” I laughed hoarsely. “I just.” I sighed. “It was just so fast. The man in the alley was slowish to die, I was prepared. Rotwell was just dead. And he could have come back. And then he would of seen you and then he would have seen me, with Lockwood, the brother of the woman who just killed him. And the howl was going on and,” I took another deep breath, “Just needed some air. You know?” I smiled at him.

He snorted.  _ “No, I don’t know. Except,”  _ he got a far away look, then finally said,  _ “Yeah, I think I do know.”  _ He paused, stilled,  _ “The door just opened. Be quiet.” _

“So, do you think you’ll join the Pack?” It was George’s voice, but the minute I made to move, Skull shook his head, eyes flickering like flames. I settled back down.

“I’m not sure. I might, but, I want to talk it over with Mom, Dad, and Jessica first.” A beat of silence. “This isn’t what you wanted to talk about.”

“You’re right. I wanted to talk about Lucy’s demon.”

I went cold, my breath caught in my throat.

“What about it?”

“When listening to her story, something didn’t add up. So I got Holly’s permission to do a little research using her families library. Apparently there is a type of demon that is invisible to everyone but the summoner. It’s called an Exspiravit Demon. It’s very rare, hard to summon, hard to control. To summon it requires the summoner to kill someone, the Exspiravit then uses the body or a part of the body as a focus. How far the demon can travel depends on the ability of the witch.  Despite these downsides, it is a very useful demon to have. It’s completely undetectable, the only one who knows it’s there is it’s summoner. It’s perfect for reconnaissance and killing. Sound familiar?”

“Sounds like a ghost.” Lockwood's voice was curious.

“It’s what the idea of ghosts are based on. Now, how old is the skull?”

“Old.”

“Older than twenty years?”

“Much older.”

“So Lucy could not of summoned it?”   
“No, but we already knew that. What’s your point George?” Lockwood was starting to sound annoyed now.

“My point is that if Lucy should not have been able to bound to the skull and make a pact with the demon. That ability is an ability of extremely powerful witches, it’s almost always found in families that have studied demonology for centuries and have a record of seventh sons or seventh daughters.”

“You’re point?”   
“My point is that for Lucy to have bonded to the Exspiravit Demon, she could not be a second child. She would have to be the seventh daughter of an extremely powerful family of witches who specialize in demonology. So why would she have lied?”

The world cracked. Or perhaps it was just my mind as everything clicked into place.

The rest of the conversation faded into the sudden buzzing in my head. Skull was saying my name, over and over and over, but it did not register. My great grandmother had dabbled in demonology, so had my mom. I didn’t know about my dad, nobody spoke about him. I was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. George was putting together pieces I hadn’t even known existed, and it made so much more sense then ghosts.

Exspiravit demon’s were what ghost stories where based off of.

Skull could not be a ghost because ghosts did not exist. Everyone said so. My only salvation was that humans had ghost stories but if those were based demons.

Skull proved to me that ghosts exist by manipulating the objects around him.

But demons, even invisible ones, could move things also.

Ghosts don’t exist.

Skull was an Exspiravit demon.

Ghosts don’t exist.

The figures of my childhood?

False.

The ghost of the dead man?

False.

The ghosts in the museums?

False.

The ghosts in the hollow shell of the Flight Simulator?

False.

The ghosts walking these halls?

False.

Ghosts didn’t exist.

They had never existed.

I was seeing things that didn’t exist.

My family was right.

I was truly insane.

I was screaming, or perhaps that was all in my head. Someone was saying my name.  _ “Lucy! Are you alright? Lucy? LUCY!”  _ It was Skull but it couldn’t be Skull because Skull was the name of a ghost and ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane. It was a loop, over and over and over and over and over. Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane. Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane. Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane. Ghosts don’t-

The sound of a door shutting cut through my circling thoughts. I stood up, my knees felt weak, I was shaking, Skull was still trying to get my attention. Lockwood and George had left. Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.

I hadn’t believed it when they’d called Skull a demon, but I hadn’t had proof then. Now I did. Invisible demons exist. They spawned the stories for ghosts. Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.

I stumbled out of my niche. The howling had stopped. I could hear nothing over the rushing of the blood in my ears and the swirling of my thoughts. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) I had to get out. I had to leave. I had to get fresh air. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) 

I was running now. Out of the Rotwell estate, past the glowing wisps (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.), out into the street and the cold night air. I had to go. I had to go. I had to leave. Where? I didn’t matter. I picked a direction. Started to walk. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)


	9. Dancing on the Edge of Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

He didn’t want to watch, he wanted to turn around and leave, but he couldn’t, his tether to his skull jerked him forward every time he halted, like a dog on a leash. For a second he thought he felt the ragged pain of sharp, spelled glass rubbing against his throat, biting into it, but then the pain was gone. It was nothing but a phantom pain. If it hadn’t been now, if it had been any other time, he would have laughed. A phantom pain indeed. A phantom pain caused by madness and servitude and memories that were best left forgotten.

A long time ago he had sworn to serve no more masters, to listen to his own mind and own thoughts and no one else’s. But somehow he hadn’t managed that quite as well as he would have liked. But somehow here he was, following another that was crumbling, cracking, breaking down in a rush of splintered thoughts and fractured dreams.

She was before him, rushing forward in a stumbling run, hands clasped to the sides of her head, her fingers digging into her hair, eyes wide and fixed on some point in the air. Or perhaps her eyes weren’t fixed to some point, but fixed forward so she wouldn’t see the things around her. The invisible things that no one else could see. The invisible things that wedged her cracks open wider every time she spotted them.

Was this how it had happened for Bickerstaff? He didn’t know. Bickerstaff’s insanity had been a subtle thing, present when the necromancer had found him, so long ago. It was in his words and actions and eyes and impossible to see until closer inspection. He hadn’t known about Bickerstaff’s madness until it was too late, until he’d been in too deep. Bickerstaff’s madness had been a subtle thing, yes, but a subtle thing that spread to those around him. An insanity that was contagious. And he hadn’t known it until he’d been caught in that web.

He watched her stumble against the side of a building, eyes screwed shut, lips repeating a mantra, over and over and over again. “They aren’t real. They aren’t real. They aren’t real. They aren’t real.” After a few seconds of this she pushed herself up, continued to stumble forwards, one hand dragging against the building for support. Or perhaps as an anchor, something to tie her to reality. He thought he could hear her mind splintering, tearing, even as she tried her hardest to hold it together.

He watched her, utterly helpless. If he tried to stop her she would crack completely, there would be no saving her. And in his helplessness he hated. He hated George, for doing his research and trying to connect the dots. He hated Lockwood, for not stopping him. He hated her, for believing them instead of trusting herself. Trusting him. But most of all he hated himself. Hated that he hadn’t gotten her out of there when her secret was discovered. Hated that he’d stopped her from revealing herself. Hated that he cared. Hated that somehow a little part of his old, shriveled, dead heart had survived the centuries.

He thought he stopped caring long ago. Long before his blood had dried and his body cooled and his last breath hung in the air.

He hadn’t known how wrong he was.

So the one who was now known as Skull slunk in the shadows and watched the witch who had saved him stumble down the road and wrestle valiantly with her sanity. He watched her stumble and whisper and crack further and further as the invisible things that watched her start to follow. Like a wave. Like an army. Always following, always rushing after the only one with the eyes to see. He watched her move as the scent of water grew heavy in the air. He watched and watched and watched until he was one of one hundred dead things in the night, silent and unseen. He watched until he realized that there was something he could do for her. He could keep these pesky, pathetic little wannabe spirits away from her, so when she looked behind her she wouldn’t crack all the way down the middle.

It wasn’t much, but it was something, it was all he had.

So Skull turned around from the witch with his skull and towards the army, the sea, the endless ranks of dead, pulled back his lips, and growled, and tried very hard to ignore the phantom pain blossoming to life around his throat. 

 

. . .

 

Cobblestones. Cobblestones beneath my feet, slick and wet and hard to balance on. But they weren’t cobblestones, just an illusion. The hand on the building beside me was touching concrete, and that told me that this was a district that had been built recently. I may not have been much of a witch, but I knew an illusion when I saw it, when I felt it. I had crossed into a witch families territory, had triggered a trap, and was now stuck in an illusion. I think. How funny it was, not to be able to trust my own mind. My own senses. To distrust it all.

I felt like laughing.

I felt like crying.

I felt like screaming.

And something was screaming. A loud endless scream (or perhaps it was a roar, a pain filled roar) that echoed on the stones.

I touched my mouth. It wasn’t moving. Something else was screaming. Or roaring. Or perhaps howling. I giggled. 

The lights in the street weren’t turning on. No one was rushing out and asking about the ruckus. No curtains were being pulled shut. The scream must be in my head. Or perhaps it was part of the illusion. Probably in my head. Most things I see apparently are all in my head.

I continued to walk forward. One step. Two. The scream continued. It was burrowing into my mind now. Something was happening. Something bad. It had to be. Right? Maybe not. It had to be in my head. Because it was all in my head. All of it. Everything. Ever. 

This time I sobbed. 

This time I turned to see what was screaming. To make sure it wasn’t in my head. To make sure that my ears weren’t failing me too. Except they’d already failed me, all those times I thought I heard the whispers of the dead, I’d been delusional.

I was delusional now. I was certain.

My heart started to beat faster.

My blood rushed in my ears.

No.

No.

Nononononononono.

Behind me was a mass, a haze, dozens and dozens of faces (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) all staring, watching, gaping, pleading. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) No. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) Not possible. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) Someone in front of them. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) Skull. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) No nonononononononononono.

I closed my eyes. Screwed them shut. Turned. Ran. 

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

Feet tripping. Knees scraping pavement. The heavy smell of water in the air.

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

Stairs. Moss covered. Slick. Fingers scrambling against stone.

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

Mud. The smell of river muck. The sound of water. The murmuring of a dozen things. My name. Over and over. Desperately called. 

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

Kneeling in mud. Fingers in hair. Eyes screwed shut.

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

I’d been doing so well!

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

Holding things together.

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

And now it was all breaking.

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

No! No! Nonononononononononononononononono . . .

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.)

This time the scream came from me.

 

. . .

 

Once upon a time, not very far from the river Thames, a house once held a witch family. This witch family wasn't a particularly strong witch family, nor was it particularly skilled witch family. It had no seventh daughters, or seventh sons, or anyone of great power. But what it was was one of the few witch families in London who specialized in demonology. All of the individuals of this family did. All of them. Not one of them dabbled, each one spent all their waking time studying to summon and bind one demon. One demon per witch. For a time it worked.

But demons are tricky things.

Tricky, tricky things. 

And although it is a general rule that demons do not like to be summoned, and much prefer their world to this one, that is not always the case. Some like this world very much, so much they want to stay. They just dislike being controlled, they dislike a whole lot.

And there is a way for demons to stay in this world for a long time. It just requires a lot of deaths at one time. Preferably within a day of arrival. This is why witch families that specialize in demonology are very specific in what they try to summon. Messing up can lead to a whole lot of trouble. 

So once upon a time, in this house near the Thames, one of these witches was finally summoning the demon he’d been promised his whole life. He was the first child, so he had the powers most first children had, and in his hubris he decided to summon a powerful demon. One more powerful than any demon the family had summoned before. For a reason. This family was preparing for war.

So he made his sacrifices, drew his pentacle, and started his incantation. This was an old one, and long and complicated, full of complex utterances and half intelligible words. It took him long into the night. And finally, when the sky was at its darkest, the candles guttered, the pentacle started to glow, and the demon appeared. 

It took the form of a girl. A tall, thin, bony girl, with a rounded, stubborn face. It’s blond hair blended with it’s straw hat, and it’s giant, untied boots trailed reddish mud on the floor. It’s oversized blue puffer jacket was dirty and ripped and the edges were soaked. But it was the eyes that truly marked the girl as inhuman. It’s iris’ were a pale, cold blue that glowed faintly. It’s pupils’ were red, a dark, bloody red, and the shape was distorted. It looked like they had been punctured so that the red spilled into the ice blue. 

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but the demon interrupted in a cracked and jagged voice. “Hey, here I am again. Think someone would’ve figured out summoning me is a bad idea.” It looked down at the pentacle and smiled. It had too many teeth, and all of them were sharp and shiny, like needles. “Hey would you look at that.” It looked up at the boy, who was gaping now, whose instincts were screaming at him to run, but he was frozen. “Nothing personal kid. But you got the wrong demon. Misspelled name.” The smile widened,  further and further, stretching across it’s face too wide and too sharp. “Thanks.”

An hour later the demon walked out of the house that had once held a family of witches and now held a family of bodies, their demons released into the other world. The demon was whistling as it walked, bloody hands shoved in its pockets. It was heading toward the river, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind it.

 


	10. Consorting With Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flo Bones for best (or perhaps worst) demon.

Flo Bones was walking the bank of the Thames when she heard the scream. She did this most nights, she liked the river, and all the things that washed up in its waters. Hidden things, forgotten things, dark things, dead things. However, most of the things that came to the Thames to curl up and die didn’t scream like that. Like their world was shattering, breaking, crumbling to pieces all around them. It was the type of scream that most demons only heard in their sweetest dreams.

Flo straightened from where she was digging in the dark river mud. There was something in there, something old and she wanted it, but the scream was more alluring then the promise of forgotten buried treasure. She kept silent, didn’t even breathe, her head tilted as she listened to the wind and the waters and the sound of sobbing that drifted in her direction. She took a deep breath, tasting the air, and smiled as the sweet tang of despair touched her tongue. As she smiled, her needle teeth glinted bright in the dark, and a low eager growl hummed out of her throat. 

There was a trick to surviving in the human world that most demons didn’t know. Of course there was the initial slaughter, but that could only keep a demon sated for a year or two. Flo, who had been playing hopscotch between the two worlds for a very long time, had figured out that to stay for longer a demon needed to consume something. And because a trail of bodies often lead to problems of a decidedly angelic nature, Flo had figured out that emotions were the best way to go. Fear, anger, greed, despair, those were the best. And the scent that drifted down the Thames toward her was filled with panic and despair, and, even better, it tasted like witch.

Flo like witches, though perhaps like wasn’t the correct word.

She looked up at the sky, and for a second the black-red pupils that spilled down into her irises seemed to seep down her cheeks like bloody tears as well, then she turned around and started to walk toward the delicious scent. The tears were gone, but her smile was as sharp and bright as ever. As she walked, the river twisted and churned, the waters turning a darker, murkier color. Almost black, with just the slightest hint of red. Flo rather liked the effect, it set the scene. Made the Thames seem more otherworldly than it actually was, more dangerous, more demonic. But, unfortunately, her efforts went unnoticed.

Oh, she found the witch easily enough, curled up in the river mud at the bottom of the steps that lead back up to the road. Her fingers were digging into her hair, her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was shaking as if she was falling apart, falling to pieces, but now that Flo was closer,  she felt no power coming from the witch. None at all. It was funny, because even the weakest of witches still had some power. Flo considered the witch, and despite the lack of power Flo could tell that she was a witch, the scent was unmistakable, then booted her in the side. Hard.

The witch went flying, her eyes snapping open, and yep, there were those pentagram pupils that Flo knew so well. She hit the mud a few feet away, bounced once, then lay gasping. Flo opened her mouth to say something, but the witch was faster. “You idiot!” She scrambled up and grabbed her backpack, twisted it, unzipped it, and looked inside. She glared up at Flo, a cold, murderous glare, and all that despair had turned to rage like someone had flipped a switch inside of her. “You could have broken it! Old bones are very fragile you know!” 

Flo scratched her hair, and looked at the witch, head tilted. “Most bones are.” A seconds pause as she tried to figure out what was going on inside the witch’s mind. “You’re aren’t scared?” As she spoke her teeth flashed like silver in the dark.

The witch’s eyes had focused on something beyond Flo, she was shaking again, and when she spoke her voice cracked. “Not of you.” She stood, shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders. All that rage had flipped back to fear.

“A shame, really, but I’ll take what I can get.” Flo walked closer, the witch took a step back, the mud sucked noisily at her shoes. “What are you afraid of then, if not me? Little powerless witch, you smell like fear.”

The witch met her eyes. “Myself. My mind.” She gave an angry cry, the fear switched back to anger. It was like a seesaw, and absolutely wonderful to watch. She was going to keep this little lost witch. Keep her for a long time. “Why am I talking to you!”

“Because you have no one else.” Flo took another step forward. This time the witch stood her ground. “Because you know that I’ll understand.” Oh yes, better than most, she took another step forward.

The witch’s face darkened, her eyes gleamed like she was on the verge of tears. “Demons always lie.” The words were gritted out.

Flo sneered, and once again her needle teeth flashed in the dark. “Demons don’t lie. Angles lie. Angles tell you everything will be okay, little white lies that are still lies. Demons tell the truth. Always. It’s much more effective.” 

The witch’s eyes lit up with maniacal fever, something that might of been desperate hope. “Then, demon, you can sense other demons, right?”

Flo blinked, “Within reason.” Normally it was angles that look was directed at, not demons like her. She felt thrown off balance, to be stared at with hope. Mad, desperate hope, yes. But hope was still hope.

“Then is there another demon here now with us?” Her voice was shrill, there were tears building at the corners of her eyes, one spilled over onto her cheek, and Flo realized that this answer would break her, clean through, shattered like a vase tossed to the floor. Good. She didn’t want to be looked at with that wild hope ever again. She was no angel, nothing pure to be worshiped.

Flo grinned, wide and sharp, and her irises started to bleed over onto her cheeks again. She took another step forward, grabbed the witch’s chin so she couldn’t look away. “No, there’s not.” She said it softly, gently, but her grin betrayed her, wild and manic and expecting, all her sharp teeth on display.

And to her surprise, the witch sat as if all energy had been drained from her. Her anger and fear turned to relief, relief so strong it sent Flo stumbling back. And to her greater surprise, the witch began to laugh. Loud and hysterical, the sound of someone who’d just seen a miracle when she’d thought all hope was lost. The sound spiraled in the air, warring with the wind and the waves, and winning. It carried up to the stars above, an oddly joyous sound. 

And Flo realized that instead of breaking her, the answer had made her. Had saved her.

How disgusting.

 

. . .

 

I felt relief, a wild, manic relief, an overwhelming torrent, and even as I laughed, I saw the army of figures and Skull who looked so desperate. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) No. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) No. They existed. They had too. Demons didn’t lie. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) She’d said that she didn’t sense the presence of any other demon. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) Which meant George was wrong. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) Which meant I wasn’t insane. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) They did exist. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) They did exist!

I looked up, stared at the army, stared at Skull, who looked vulnerable, fragile, angry and terrified. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed.

He flinched, he looked torn, he looked away, then back at me, his eyes flickered, his shoulders slumped.  _ “No, I’m sorry. For not scaring them away before you turned around. To believe I owe my thanks to a demon.”  _  He turned around, made a shooing motion at the crowd of spirits (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (No. They exist. They exist.) and roared,  _ “The  spectacle is done! Get your sorry buts out of here before I kill you again!”  _ The ghosts wavered (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (No. They exist. They exist!) then fled back to their various haunts.

I chuckled softly and pushed myself out of the mud. My clothes were caked in it. I would have to figure out a good way to explain it to Lockwood and George. I froze slightly, then pushed down the apprehension that rose in my gut. I would talk to them, well, I would talk to George and try to get him to stop prying into my past. I had a good thing going, I didn’t want to lose it, not him and his suspicious, careful nature. 

Something cold wrapped around my waist and landed on my shoulder. I glanced to the side. Skulls face was beside mine, chin resting on my shoulder, it might have been my imagination, but I thought he was shaking slightly. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (No. They exist. They exist!)  _ “First time,”  _ he said,  _ “that I’ve seen a demon thrown for a loop.” _

The demon.

I looked at her. The demon girl was stumbling away from me, slack jawed and eyes wide. Her blue iris glowed, her leaking pupils seemed to drink in the light. It was an odd, disconcerting look. She was a demon, but she had saved me. I smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Her whole body flinched as if I’d struck her. “Don’t,” she rasped with her crackling voice, “That was supposed to break you. Why aren’t you broken!”

But I was. I was cracked, I could feel it, but cracks could be fixed. “Because I thought I was insane, and you helped me realize I wasn’t.”

Once again the demon flinched. She looked horrified. “You’re telling me I did an angel’s work!” She sounded absolutely panicked.

Skull chuckled, low and dark.  _ “I think you broke her.” _

I was pretty sure he was right.

The demon stopped, sighed, scratched her head under her straw hat, and grimaced. “Well damn.”

I laughed, and turned so I could sit on the bottom set of the stair. The demon watched me. Behind her the river shifted, it looked too dark for some reason, like black blood. Skull sat beside me, whistled.  _ “She’s powerful. Look at that glamor on the Thames. Not many demons can do that to a river.” _

I smiled at her. “What’s your name?”

She glared at me, for a second, I thought she would walk away, then she shrugged. “Flo bones, powerless witch. What’s yours?”

“Lucy.” 

She grinned at me, teeth flashing. “Names have power.”

“Only if I try to bind you. And I couldn’t even if I wanted to. No power here.”

“That’s true.” We were silent, staring at each other, the sound of the river lapping on the shore the only other sound. Skull was a spot of cold beside me, he seemed afraid to leave my side, like I’d disappear if he moved away. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) The demon named Flo shrugged. “Well then, bye. I have no more use for you. A shame really. I wanted to keep you, but you’re useless now.” She turned to walk away.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I don’t know why I asked that question.

She turned to look at me. Her bloody tears were back, trailing down her cheeks to her chin. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because humans do, or at least some do. Supernaturals don’t. But I don’t know about demons, and I don’t know about angles.”

“Does it matter.”

_ “No.” _

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Basic theory is there is three planes. Earth, Hell, and Heaven, or at least that's what most people call them. Angles come from heaven, but they have to be invited. Demons come from hell, but they too can’t come unless invited. When people on this plane die, they go somewhere that isn’t either of those two planes, but somewhere that isn’t here either. There is a theory that there is a fourth plane where the souls of the dead reside, and, theoretically, if someone could see onto that plane, or onto part of that plane, they would see ghosts.”

I frowned. “So why don’t supernaturals believe this?”

She snorted. “Don’t know, maybe because to see onto that plane you would have to be some type of supernatural, but no one's ever seen it before.” She grinned, just a sharp flash of teeth. It looked a little bit like Skull’s smile. “Perhaps because even among supernaturals it is hard to believe in what you can’t see. Why do you ask?”

A fourth plane, huh. But ghosts eventually fade away. Perhaps I wasn’t seeing the fourth plane, but the spirits caught between. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They did. They did!) “I see ghosts.”

_ “Lucy!” _

She snorted, started to chuckle, burst out into a loud, raucous laugh that doubled her over. “That,” she gasped, “is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” She petered out at my silence, stared at me with wide eyes. “By the planes, you’re serious.”

I nodded. “Then I heard about Exspiravit demons and I panicked. I thought I was insane.”

She stared at me. “In my experience, crazy people don’t think they are crazy.” Then she was gone, with her words hanging in the air. Skull and I were left with nothing but the sound of the Thames, which was slowly turning to its normal color. Nothing but the Thames and the word of a demon that I wasn’t insane. I felt like laughing, or maybe crying, or maybe both.

I stood, tried to brush some of the mud off my skirt, gave up, and looked at Skull. “Come on, let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, Nathaniel, Bartimaeus and Kitty are totally around here somewhere.


	11. Spilling Secrets

I’d taken a few steps up the stairs before Skull spoke.  _ “No. Not yet.”  _ I paused, turned to stare at him. He hadn’t moved, still sitting on the bottom steps, staring off into the water. He was barely there, just the faintest outline.  (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) In that moment, he looked fragile, like a boy made of nothing but spun glass. I walked back down to sit beside him and examined him. Beneath his skin and hair I could make out the faint outlines of bones. His eyes still glowed, but only faintly, dim lights in dark sockets. He looked, for some reason, more real than ever, even though I could still see the rocks and mud and everything else through him.

“Why not?” My voice was a quiet whisper.

_ “You’re not mad Lucy.” _

(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, sighed. “I know.” I know now. Even though part of my mind still felt cracked and broken.

_ “I know because I’ve seen madness.”  _ He tilted his head back, stared up at the sky and the stars, an endless expanse of open space. A look of pure longing passed over his face, there and then gone, so fast I could barely catch it.  _ “I know it better than you ever will.” _

I frowned. “What does that mean?” I didn’t think he would answer, he’d never told me anything about his past before.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of my breathing and the water lapping against the shore. Then to my surprise, he spoke, and it was not the dismissal I expected. He started hesitantly, as if unsure of himself, then the words came faster and faster, rushing and tripping over themselves, a dam that had just burst somewhere deep inside him.  _ “Once I was a boy, a real boy, who fed on nothing but scraps and made his home in sewers. I . . . every day was a struggle, a battle for survival. I killed because if I did not I would be killed. I stole because the other option was to starve. Then he came. Bickerstaff.”  _ He lingered on the name, like it was a piece of chocolate, something to be savored.  _ “He took me in,not out of kindness, but because he needed someone who would do anything for him. He fed me, clothed me, gave me a room in his house, an actual room, not a closet or a storeroom or something else you’d expect a street rat to get, and he told me secrets that he’d never told anyone before. You see Lucy, Bickerstaff was like you. In his youth he could see ghosts, but as he grew older, he devised a ritual to change that power into the one he was supposed to be born with. It . . . that ritual broke something in him, and then all he wanted afterward was to get the ability to see ghosts back. And it was much more than that too. He wanted to pierce the veil, to make everyone see what he had seen, to utilize that ability to do horrible things. To change the world. I thought he was crazy at first, but Bickerstaff was . . . he was addictive. He made you want to believe him. And eventually, I did, and so did everyone else. He had a group of us you see, a group that would do anything for him. Dig up graves, steal, murder, anything he wanted. He was our god, he was my god. He had a way about him that made what we did unimportant, we lived to please him and his vision. He wanted to see ghosts again, and promised that we could too, that we could see into what awaits after death. And we did. Slowly but surely, Bickerstaff killed off every one of us, and we let him. We lived to serve him, and we died believing the same. I died believing the same.”  _ He laughed then, a half strangled laughed, a shade of his normal malevolent chuckle.The brokenness of that little laugh made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  _ “I was the first to join his cult, the first to worship him, and I was the last one too. He saved me for last. He was mad Lucy, you could see it in his eyes, in the way he spoke. He was fanatical and completely devoid of everything that a great man should be. But he was a great man! A great man . . . the best.”  _ His fingers, which had been cupping his neck, dropped listlessly.  _ “He was the very best of men . . . and the worst too. And that's where his true madness had lain. He convinced us all that he was great, that he was good. And even now, centuries after I’ve died, after he killed me, I find myself wanting to sing his praises, even though he doesn’t deserve them.”  _ He fell silent, eyes staring off into the waters of the Thames.

I imagined that boy, half starved and dying slowly, being taken in, used, twisted, manipulated, then being discarded. All by a madman, all by someone who had convinced others and himself that he could do the impossible. I sucked in a breath through my teeth. I wanted to say that I was sorry for him, or for the person he used to be, but Skull wouldn’t want my pity. So instead I said, “That sucks.” 

It startled a laugh out of him.  _ “Yeah.” _

“Next time you say I’m not crazy, I’m going to listen.” He laughed again, and I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He still looked oddly fragile, but perhaps that was because I knew him now. With a half curse, I hugged him, because he looked like he needed it, because after this night, I needed it. He froze, then to my surprise he hugged me back. He didn’t cry, I didn’t think he would ever let himself cry, not when I was there to see it, but he did hold on like he was afraid that I would disappear. And I did the same.

After a little bit, I let go and pushed myself back up. “Let’s try this again. Are you ready to go home?”

He stood, gazed back out at the river, then nodded.  _ “Yeah. Maybe we’ll beat the others there.”  _ I snorted in doubt, and Skull smiled. It was his wide, vicious grin full of too many teeth.  _ “You realize that it is entirely possible that the demon is still around and has heard everything you’ve said.” _

I took a breath, waved a hand, “She’ll think I’m crazy,” (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) “but I don’t think that matters. Not really.” 

_ “Now, if we do want to get home before the rest do, we have to leave now.” _

I nodded, turned around and took a few steps up the stairs, paused, looked at him. “You just called Portland Row home.”

He stared back at me, then down as if he could stare aghast at his own mouth.  _ “Well, blimey. I just did.” _

I started to smile, and then, I started to laugh. This time it was a real laugh, full of nothing but honest amusement. 

 

. . .

 

We weren’t quite lucky. George was home, eating crackers on the couch in the kitchen. He sat up when I walked in, eyes taking in the mess of what I presented. My hair was knotted, my clothes muddied, my eyes might have been red-rimmed, I don’t remember crying though. But I did look like a mess. He whistled. “What happened to you?”

Skull made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. I stood awkwardly. “Is Lockwood here?”

“No, he’s still at the mansion with everyone. I came back here when we noticed you were missing, after we remembered that you didn’t have a phone. Didn’t think I’d beat you here.” He paused for a second, and the lights reflected off his glasses, turning them into shining circles. “Didn’t think you’d come in looking like that. What happened?”

I couldn’t lie. I wouldn’t lie. “You did.”

“I’m sorry?” 

_ “Lucy, what are you doing?” _

“Trust me Skull.” I breathed out slowly, took in a deep breath. I had to say something. I wanted to keep what I had here, but I couldn’t keep on leaving up most of my story as a mystery. George lived for mysteries. I took another deep breath, closed my eyes, steeled myself, looked at him. “I left sometime during the howl, hung outside to catch my breath, and overheard you and Lockwood talking. It threw me for a loop, and I panicked and ran.” 

I could see that his eyes were narrowed behind the glare from his glasses. “Why?”

I pulled a chair out and sat down. After a second’s pause, I could feel Skull’s cold, ghostly hands clasp onto my shoulders. “I’m not here because my family’s dead and I was the only survivor. I’m here because I ran away.” He opened his mouth to speak but I held out a hand. “Please, I don’t think I can continue if you stop me.” He closed his mouth, frowned. I took another deep breathe. “I’m not even a second child. I’m a seventh daughter, which means I’m supposed to be powerful, but I’m not. I can’t even light a candle.” Another deep breath. “So I was useless, and I was kept out of much of the witchy know-how. And then I found Skull, and, well, it's very hard to keep secrets when you have six other siblings, a mother, an aunt, an uncle, and a grandmother all packed into the same house. They heard me speaking to something they couldn’t see or hear . . . they thought I was mad. They were going to stick me in an insane asylum and leave me to rot! And so I ran.” I twisted my hands in my lap, forced myself to look at George again, at some point during my story, my eyes had dropped from his. “Some part of me believed that I was mad. And then I heard you talking about that type of demon and that ability”(Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) “and something cracked. I panicked and ran.” I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around them. “I’m sorry for not telling you guys, but I was afraid that you would agree with them, and then . . . and then this started to feel like home, a real home with a real family, and I was terrified of losing it.” I closed my eyes and set my forehead on my knees. I felt drained. 

Skull whistled softly.  _ “Well that was a prettily woven tapestry. I'm impressed.”  _

“Oh.” George sounded stupefied. “I, okay, I’ll be honest. I don’t know how to reply to that. But I will tell you this. We wouldn’t give you back, you’re pack now. And, I’m sorry that I pried. I didn’t realize that it would harm you like that. I’m just trying to keep Lockwood safe, he’s too trusting, and I was afraid that what you were hiding would harm him. I promise not to pry any more . . . and thank you for telling me?”

I laughed, a little strained. “You were doing good until that moment.”

He snorted, then said, “I’m glad you came. You’re not half bad, for a witch.”

I smiled, “And you’re not half bad, for a paranoid dragon.”

_ “Euulllggghhhh, enough with the touchy feeling stuff. I’m going to throw up.” _

I snorted, then burst into full blown gouts of laughter. George looked at me in confusion until I told him what Skull had said, then he too burst out into laughter. It felt good, because for the first time, I truly felt safe. There was no little bit of doubt left in my mind. I had found a place to stay, a place where I belonged, me and all my quirks. It was a wonderful feeling.

 

. . .

 

“Really? How fascinating. A skull you say. Same girl?”

“”

“Delightful. Wait till tomorrow night.”

“”

A chair swiveled. 

A figure stood. 

A reflection in glass. 

Red painted lips stretched into a smile. 

Black eyes with pentagram pupils glinting an unnatural pale green. 

Something beside her. 

Something dark with a crown of gold. 

“What for, old friend?”

A hand, a wine glass tilted towards the view through the window.

London, dark in the night, with a few lights glinting bright in defiance against supernatural forces.

“The beginning of the end.”

A smile, a slash of gold against blackness. 

Two burning eyes against nothingness. 

**_“Finally.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun ddduuuuuuunnn


	12. When the Plot Kicks In

When Lockwood came home, he was grinning, a wide, delighted grin full of bright, white teeth. Kipps and Holly came with him. Kipps half slumped with his eyes glinting red in the darkness. Holly just looked tired, but somehow energized at the same time, her eyes shining and bright. George welcomed them in, he and I had managed to get together enough sustenance to feed a dragon, a werewolf, a vampire, and two witches. Skull had actually helped! And sure the stuff he’d brought out was presented in disturbing patterns, but it could still be counted as helping. Kinda.

By this time I had changed out of my muddy clothes and into a fresh shirt and jeans. By this time I was completely relaxed and calm, the panic from earlier buried deep inside. We all sat down to eat, Skull staying in the library where he continued rearranging the books. It wasn’t like he was avoiding me, but more as if he was avoiding the others. Or maybe it was me, maybe he was trying to make up for his clinginess earlier.

“Your sister, Lockwood, is amazing.” Holly said, not quite gushing, but getting there.

Lockwood’s smiled wider, something I’d thought wasn’t possible. “I know, right? Mom and Dad are going to be so proud once they get back to London. I already called them, and they’ll be home in a week or so!” He could barely contain his excitement, and his amber eyes shone brightly.

“Oh yes,” Kipps agreed, “They’ll be delighted. Less so when I tell them of your escapade at the flight simulator.” George choked on a donut as he tried not to laugh at the sudden fear that passed over Lockwood’s face. 

I didn’t participate in the conversation, just listened and watched. I was exhausted, and I didn’t really feel like talking much more today. No, I was content to just be there, to just let their laughter wash over me. For them, today had been a good day, and I didn’t want to ruin that mood. Finally, I set my fork down and looked at them all. “I think I’m going to catch some sleep, you guys. I’m pretty exhausted.” No one argued, just as no one had asked why I’d left during the Challenge. I guessed George had told them something of what happened. I took up my plate and put it in the sink. “Night, everyone.”

There was a chorus of good nights, and Lockwood called, “Sleep well!” up after me as I walked. I smiled, and made my way to bed.

 

. . .

 

The next day, the sun woke me up, shining brightly down onto my face. Someone had opened up the curtains while I slept. “Skull . . .” I grumbled, pulling the covers over my head. I didn’t want to get up, not yet, exhaustion still had its grip in my mind.

_ “I thought I saw someone out there.” _

“Mhm.” I screwed my eyes shut and shoved my face into my pillow.

_ “Last night, watching the house.” _

“Mhm.”

_ “Lucy, what do you plan to do about your promise?” _

This time I removed my face from the pillow and pushed myself up. “What do you mean?” I mumbled as I twisted to look at him.

_ “Your promise,” _ Skull said in the tones I knew all too well, the tones that said I was an idiot, “ _ to the ghosts at the flight simulator. What are you going to do about it?”  _  He was looking out the window, the suns rays passing through him as if he weren’t there. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) 

I pushed the hair out of my eyes, then rubbed them. Some part of me felt nervous and sick. Suddenly the safety I’d felt late last night, the acceptance, felt like a distant dream. “To be honest, I haven’t thought that far.” I stretched, and said, “I should probably talk to Holly since she was there at the London Eye.” I kept my voice low, in case Lockwood or George was listening in. “I kinda forgot about that with everything that has been going on . . .” I trailed off, the sick feeling rising.

_ “Holly and Kipps left last night.” _

“Then I guess I could talk to Flo, see what she thinks.”

_ “Do you really think she’ll help you, after what you pulled last night?” _

“Oh,” he had a point. “Well, perhaps I’ll think of something after breakfast.” I heard the doubt in my voice.

_ “Perhaps,”  _ Skull said, but there was worry in his voice and I couldn’t help but wonder why. What exactly had he seen watching the house last night? Had it been one of the ghosts? Something different?

I got up, washed my face, changed into fresh clothes and went downstairs. Skull stayed behind, staring out the window with glittering eyes. As I made my way downstairs, the smell hit me. It smelled good, and I smiled and went to investigate. I found George in the kitchen, humming off-key as he cooked. “Lockwood awake yet?” I said it softly.

“Nope,” George said, “Are you going to tell him what you told me?”

I hesitated, and then said, “Yeah, I think so, I’m tired of keeping secrets.” But I was still keeping them, I was always keeping them. “Skull said he saw someone watching the house last night.” I said it as I sat down, so I didn’t have to see George’s expression.

But his voice was thoughtful when he said, “Really? I didn’t notice anyone. Did he say who, give a description?”

“No, morning Lockwood.” Lockwood had just entered the kitchen in wolf form, his fur glossy and his eyes gleaming. He jumped onto the couch, circled a few times, then sat down, staring at me with wide amber eyes. “Did you notice anyone watching the house last night?” The wolf shook his head, then turned to George with an imploring look on his face.

“No,” said George, “You’re not getting food, not until you are shifted and clothed.” His tone brooked no argument.

The wolf’s shoulders sagged and he jumped off the couch and padded out of the room.

I laughed softly. “Yeah, but whatever it was he saw, it spooked him, he’s still at the window looking out.”

_ “Hey!”  _ Came a call from upstairs, faint but annoyed,  _ “I was not spooked. I don’t get spooked!” _

I chuckled again.

“You know,” said George, “It’s weird seeing you talk and laugh to thin air.”

My chuckle died away. “I know,” I murmured, thinking back to my family and their plans for me.

There was a flash of cold at my back, spectral  (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) arms dropped onto the top of my head and and stayed there.  _ “This guy bugs me.” _

“Everyone bugs you.” I muttered.

_ “Can I kill him?” _

“No.”

_ “I want his hoard.” _

“Too bad,” I paused, “What would you even do with it?”

_ “Keep it.”  _ He chuckled then, one of his scratchy ones that he used to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.  _ “What else would I do with it?” _

“Morning Lucy, morning George,” said Lockwood, striding in wearing another suit that was too tight. I was starting to think that he was getting Holly to enchant them so they wouldn’t tear at the seams. He peered around, “Mourning, uh, Skull. Wherever you are.”

I couldn’t see Skull, but I could tell he had stiffened.  _ “Is he talking to me?” _

“You’re the only one named Skull, aren’t you?”

_ “Oh har har. You’re an absolute riot, should start a comedy show and all.” _

George paused in his breakfast making, to say in a thoughtful tone of voice. “Why are we all saying morning? It’s closer to lunch time.”

“Did we all sleep that late?” I said, startled.

“Well, we did have a late night.” Lockwood pointed out, taking a seat at the table.

“True, Skull, when exactly did you see the person watching the house?” Nothing, the cold presence at my back was gone. I turned, to see nothing.  (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!) “Skull?”

_ “Don’t know,” _ came his voice,  _ “A few hours before Kipps and Holly left, I think.”  _ He sounded distant, thoughtful, and then the news from the living room started blaring. Both George and Lockwood jumped at the unexpected sound.

I repeated what he said as George started to pass the plates. He sat down with his own heap of food, glasses flashing in the light. “So we don’t know when he came, or when he left, just that he was there before Kipps and Holly left.”

_ “He left soon after them.” _

“Skull says they left soon after Kipps and Holly did, so it’s possible that he was trailing one of them.”

Lockwood held up one finger, “Hold on, we don’t even know if it was a he. Could have been a she.”

George shrugged, “It’s entirely possible, but in either case, we need to call Holly and Kipps and alert them that they might have been followed home.”

“And we need to tell Jessica,” I added, but Lockwood interrupted before I could finish.

“No, no no no no,” he said rapidly, shaking his head, “First few days of Alphaship are crucial. She has to make sure to stay with the pack at all times to make sure pack bonds are working properly. She needs to lay a strong foundation, you could say.”

George swallowed a mouthful of food, and I remembered that I too had food in front of me. I picked up my fork. “I’ll call Holly, you call Kipps?” George took out his phone and dialed a number.

“And on to the next bit of news. The police have still not found who is committing these heinous acts-”

“Hey Holly, just called to warn you that someone was watching the house yesterday and may have followed you home. Yeah, of course, thanks, see you.” He hung up and said, “She says she didn’t see anyone, but will make sure to keep protections up and tell us of anything suspicious. She also has her family to back her up. Lockwood, what are you doing?”

“-not sure whether this perpetrator is the same as the terrorist tha-”

Lockwood looked up from where his fingers were flying over the screen of his phone. “Texting Kipps, he’s asleep, remember? Can’t wake him up during the day.” He frowned, “George, what are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be meeting with your mother at this time?”

“-police are saying to stay off the streets at night-”

“She had to cancel, something came up.”

“-not safe-”

“Guys, shut up and listen to the news.”

“Police are also saying that civilians need to stay away from popular gathering spots, as no one knows where London’s Bomber will strike next. Notable locations where this mysterious person has dealt their hand include the Flight Simulator and London Eye. Some of the smaller attractions have already closed down, and have stated that they will stay that way until the London Bomber is caught. Police still have no clue to who the identity of the London Bomber, as all potential witnesses have been caught in the explosions. Police are urging caution when visiting tourist attractions, and, if all possible, are saying it is better to stay away.”

Lockwood grimaced. “Jessica said she would be able to fix that, but she won’t be able to do anything until she can make a statement. And with that serial killer on the loose, any publicity for the supernatural will be bad publicity. Between us, I don’t know what she will do. I don’t know what she can do.”

The news droned on about the rise in the price for silver bullets and other weapons said to take down the supernatural. Skull walked in and leaned on the table staring at my food with a wide eyed expression that bordered on scared.  _ “This is bad.” _

“No kidding.” Lockwood’s head jerked up as I spoke, but my attention was on Skull now.

_ “The thing the ghosts said was causing the explosion was a demon. You know what demons feed on? Pain, misery, ugly emotions. A serial killer on the loose, a terrorist blowing things up, and tourist attractions on the verge of being shut down. Plenty of negative emotions there.” _

“Oh,” I mumbled, then looked at George and Lockwood, “Is it possible that the thing that’s causing this could be demon?” Both of their faces went an interesting shade of white. “I’m going to take that as a yes, and that is a very bad thing if it is?”

George nodded. “Yes. Demons, along with angels, are the strongest of the supernatural creatures. I read an interesting article explaining that they are technically the same thing, eldritch horrors that are drawn from other worlds and forced to take a shape in this world, just different factions. In this world, they can feed off emotions to make themselves even more powerful. If one’s doing this, and feeding off the feelings as well, then that would be catastrophic.”

“Oh,” I said, my voice too small, “well that’s just great.”

 

. . .

 

We couldn’t turn the news off. Whenever we did, Skull turned it back on, and he wouldn’t say why he did so either, he just listened with an intent look on his face, as if he was filing all the information away for later. George retreated to his hoard, muttering something about finding that article again. Lockwood and I made our way to the library. I started to research demons, Lockwood got bored halfway through and disappeared.

I was very careful to put every book back where I found it, though doubtless those books were already in the wrong place. Skull had managed to reorder most of the room now, vile curses on every bookshelf. So far, Lockwood hadn’t noticed, and I didn’t think George had either. 

Sometime after hour three, I pulled another hefty book off a shelf with a tired sigh. I didn’t like research, this was more Georges area, but I needed to know everything I could learn about demons before fulfilling my promise. Something cold grabbed my shoulder, and yelped and nearly dropped it. A hand grabbed it, shoved it back on the shelf, fingers twirled me around, and my eyes met Skull’s.  _ “It’s started.” _

“What’s started?” I asked as he dragged me from the room. Downstairs, something banged, probably a door being flown open. I could hear somebody talking rapidly, on a phone? Skull dragged me all the way down stairs and pushed me into where the news played on the television. Flames played across the screen, smoke billowed out of a building, the setting sun cast dramatic shadows, the header on the bottom of the screen read in big, bold letters,  **LONDON BOMBER STRIKES AGAIN.**

“What you see behind you now is Tate Modern, now on fire. According to eyewitness accounts, the explosions happened approximately fifteen minutes ago and police have just arrived on the screen.”

“Oh bloody hell!” I cried.

George stumbled into the room and stared at the television, eyes wide and shocked. Lockwood followed him, talking rapidly to someone on the other end of his phone. “But . . . I want to help! Jessica! . . . Fine!” He hung up sharply and said, “Jessica wants us to stay here.”

“The firefighters have been fighting the blaze for almost ten mintes now, and have made almost no apparent dent to the flames.” Behind the reporter, people rushed, small and insignificant against the burning building. “There are dozens still stuck inside with no hope for rescue . . .” The reporter’s voice trailed off, and she turned as another car drove up and came screeching to a halt. This was no police car, it was long and low and black, and then the doors opened and people started to pour out. Not just people, wolves. A figure could be seen among them, a young woman in a loose dress that was being tossed by the wind, a pale face, long black hair pulled back away from her face. She pointed towards the flames and shouted something that couldn’t be heard over the crackling flames and the howling sirens. As one, the wolves and people moved as a flood of fur and cloth towards the flames. One of the policemen called, and she called back. Even from the distance, her eyes glowed amber.

“What is she doing!” George cried.

Lockwood’s arm had dropped. “Making her statement.” His voice was quiet and shocked, almost reverent.

The reporter turned back to the screen, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said. “I don’t believe it. After years of following a policy of looking in the other direction, we are receiving help from the supernatural community?” Her voice was uncertain, shaky, and numbly she shook her head, at a loss for words.

There was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” George grumbled, he turned and shuffled from the room. 

_ “Well, I’m impressed. Jessica has the same flare for the dramatic her brother has. Perhaps it’s a Lockwood family trait.” _

“Really Skull, not no-”

There was a crash and Skull yanked me to the side, but Lockwood quiet wasn’t fast enough, and George’s thrown body carried him off his feet and straight into the television and it’s stand, The two toppled, and George lay prone on top of Lockwood, blood leaking at the corner of his mouth. I sucked in my breath sharply. Wha-  **_“Such a shame, I was expecting more resistance from a dragon.”_ ** The voice was cold and piercing, and Lockwood, who was struggling under George’s weight, looked up in shock, eyes wide. I twisted and turned, Skull’s hand cold on my arm. There was a void standing in the doorway, a man shaped void, as if the air and space and reality itself had been cut away to reveal the nothingness beyond. Above the void’s head was a crown of golden fire, burning bright. It turned to me, and my breath froze in my throat, my knees turned to jelly.  **_“There you are. My Mistress wishes to speak with you.”_ ** The thing rushed me, and Skull yanked at my arm again, but this time he wasn’t fast enough. 

The thing hit me

and the 

world

went

bla

ck

.


	13. And the Dead Begin to Dance (The Dead Begin to Dance, The Dead Begin to Dance)

I woke up to someone shaking me, my name being repeated over and over. “Lucy, wake up. Lucy, wake up. Lucy, wake up, please.” It sounded like Lockwood, but panicked and worried, unlike anything I’d ever heard from him before. Because under the panic and the worry was something that sounded a lot like mindless terror.

My eyelids fluttered open, but I couldn’t make out anything, it was too dark. It was as if I hadn’t opened my eyes after all. The floor beneath my cheek was cold, and it felt like stone. Every breath I took hurt. “Lockwood? What happened?”

He helped me up, and I could make out his shape in the gloom. We were getting light from somewhere, then. We weren’t left in a black pit to be forgotten forever. It was a relief, a slight one, but a relief nonetheless. “The demon happened. He did something to George, I don’t know what, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Take me to him.”

“Okay.” He helped me get to a standing position, and then led me across the floor. I needed the help. My legs were shaking so badly that I could barely walk, and I couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion, panic, or injury. 

We knelt beside the prone body of George. He was propped against a wall, head slumped forward, his glasses missing. I placed a hand in front of where I assumed his mouth to be, there was a soft gust of air against my palm, and then another. “Well,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice, “He’s alive at least.” I moved my hand a little farther down and touched his chin, “His chin is caked in dried blood. I think he was coughing it up. There might be some internal injury, but that shouldn’t be a problem. It will heal quickly.” I traced my hand down his chin and down his neck and my finger hit something cold. I frowned. “There’s something around his neck, a collar of some kind. It feels like glass.” I ran my fingers across the surface. “There’s runes engraved in it. I can’t make out what they are, but I think that’s why he’s still asleep.”

“It might also explain why he hasn’t healed yet.”

A cold weight settled in my stomach. George had been nosy and suspicious, but in the end he had just wanted to keep everyone safe. In the end, he was my friend. “Then we don’t want to move him. It could hurt him more.” I patted the floor around him. “If there are any external injuries, they haven’t been bleeding recently. The floor is clean.”

“Okay,” said Lockwood, voice shaky, and for a second I thought I caught the sound of sobbing, “That’s good then. Jessica will know by now, which means she will be searching for us.”

“Can she? You said she had to stay with the pack the first few days of being alpha. Unless they search as a group, which might take too long.”

“Well,” he said, voice slightly biting, “She’ll send Kipps and Holly to look. And as soon as she is able, she’ll be searching as well. And my parents are due back soon, they’ll be looking too.”

“Lockwood, those are runes on the collar. That means we’ve been captured by witches. Not only witches, but one's that specialize in demonology. Demonology usually goes hand in hand with blood sacrifice. I doubt we’ll live that long. Especially since I’m . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence, panic had a handhold around my throat.

“From another witch family,” Lockwood finished for me. “I know, I know.” He sighed heavily, then said as if to distract himself, “How do you know so much about anatomy? Wait, let me guess, it's a witch thing.” 

I chuckled, “No, Skull thinks it's funny to tell me about all the ways people can die. I-” My words died in my throat. Skull. Where was he? “Skull?” I said, voice trembling. “Skull? Where are you?”

Nothing, no answer coming from the darkness, no glint of glowing eyes. “Skull?”

Lockwood placed a hand on my shoulder, warm and firm, something solid in an unreal situation. “No doubt he’s at home, cursing the fact that he can’t reach you. You left his skull in the kitchen, remember? He’s fine. In fact, he’s probably better then fine. He’s probably figured out a way to contact Kipps or Holly already.” I thought I caught a glimpse of teeth in the dark, a bright smile, but there was no alpha’s call behind it.

“Okay, You’re right.” Skull was resourceful, he’d figure something out. Right now, I had to focus on surviving. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “How long have we been here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do we have any food? Water?”

“I don’t know!” Lockwood said, sounding frustrated, “I can’t smell anything but mold and damp. I can’t even see!”

I frowned, “What do you mean you can’t see? You’re a werewolf. Werewolves are supposed to be able to see in the dark.”

“I know! But-”

There was a sound.

A loud sound that sent both Lockwood and I jumping. 

It was the sound of a door being slammed open.

Light streamed into our dark prison and I threw my arm over my eyes before I was blinded. Beside me, I heard Lockwood give a low pained growl. I blinked my eyes open and squinted, trying to make out what was happening. There was a shape silhouetted in the light from the doorway, every feature cast in shadow. No . . . not shadows. It was if the light was being drained into a man sized black hole.

My heart froze in my throat.

The demon.

It cocked it’s head, examining Lockwood, George and I. Finally, it said, **_“The girl comes with me.”_ **

“I’m sorry,” said Lockwood, his voice forcibly calm, “We’ll have to decline your invitation. Our friend is sick, you see. We can’t leave him alone in this condition.”

**_“Shut up, pup,”_ ** the demon said, the eyes of molten gold barely shifting, just two dimly glowing orbs, staring out of the nothingness. **_“The girl comes with me, or the dragon dies.”_ **

Lockwood’s facade of calm cracked and he growled low in his throat. I had gone cold, all the way through, like my soul had been replaced with ice. I stood, arm still raised to cast a shadow over my eyes. “When you, put it like that,” I said, taking a page from Lockwood’s book, “How can I possibly refuse?”

“Lucy,” Lockwood growled, grabbing my sleeve.

“However, I will not move until you tell me where you’re taking me.”

The thing made a movement, just and flicker of something in the darkness and then there was the rush of air and the sound of something impacting the opposite wall. My eyes were left watering, my ears ringing, my hair smouldering. Lockwood’s growl died in his throat. I slowly raised my hand to the side of my head. Most of my hair on that side had been burned away, and my ear felt funny. My fingers were sticky with blood. And suddenly the side of my head exploded into pain. I locked my jaw to keep myself from screaming.

“I take your point.” I said finally, when the urge to scream had faded and the tremors of pain had been stifled. 

The demon stepped out of the doorway and gestured, and I followed it, looking back at Lockwood as I did so. I caught the faintest glimpse of his pale face, eyes wide and dark and staring, something glinting around his neck, and then the door slammed shut, blocking my view. And then a hand made of nothingness wrapped itself around my eyes.

It was if taking away my sight had let the sky fall in my mind. Had let the madness from the past day creep back to knock on the door. My thoughts drifted away, and my fear and anger followed them. I was nothing but an automaton, led to my doom by a demon. I couldn’t care, I didn’t care. What did he want with me? I didn’t care. Where was he taking me? I didn’t care. Would he kill me? I didn’t care. Would George die? I didn’t care. What was around Lockwood’s neck? I didn’t care. Would I ever see Skull again? I didn’t care. I didn’t care. I didn’t care.Ididn’tcare.Ididn’tcare.Ididn’tcare.Ididn’tcare.Ididn’tcareIdidn’tcareIdidn’tcareIdidn’tcareIdidn’tcareIdidn’tca-

And then as suddenly as it had come, the hand was removed, the numbness was gone, and I found myself in a room. It was an office. The back was all window panes and steel, giving me a night view of the city. There was a woman standing there, her back facing me, staring out into the night.  The walls were lined with bookcases, each shelf full of either books, occult items, or torture implaments. There was a big mahogany desk in the middle of the room, filled with papers in neat columns, inks and brushes arranged in little rows, runes carved in the surface, a candle, and a chain circle with a skull in it. Skull’s burnt, cracked, melted plastic skull in it. 

And Skull, looking faint and feeble, standing in the corner with wild eyes. _“Lucy!”_ He hissed when he saw me, _“Lucy! You have to get out! You have to get out now!”_

But I was trapped between a demon and a mysterious woman in a suit, and I had no way out. 

“Thank you, old friend, that will be all,” the woman said, her voice melodious and low.

**_“As you wish.”_ ** The demon at my back said, and his presence disappeared, the door slamming shut behind him. 

_“Lapdog,”_ Skull hissed as soon as the demon had left. _“Nothing but an overgrown poodle with a superiority complex!”_ He sounded furious. And scared.

“Miss Carlyle, if you would take a seat.”

I glanced around the room. The only chair was behind the woman’s desk, and I doubted that she wanted me to sit in that one. “I’d rather stand.”

“I said SIT.”

And just like that I was sitting cross legged on the floor.

My heart started to race and a bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. How? How could she do that so easily? I should have been able to resist, at least partly. I stared at Skull, and Skull stared back, helplessly. He didn’t look like the Skull I knew. He looked like the Skull I had first met, weak and barely there. Powerless.

“Thank you,” said the woman, there was the sound of high heels clicking against the marble floor. “Now let’s get a good look at you.” I screwed my eyes shut and sucked a deep breath as I tried not to panic. I smelled something, perfume, maybe. It smelled like roses and old blood. 

The footsteps stopped in front of me, and the woman made a tutting sound, “It looks like Ezekiel was a bit rough with you. Were you being a bad little girl?” She chuckled, and it somehow sounded like smoke and sandpaper. She knelt down, and placed one cold hand on the side of my face, fingernails digging into my skin. She murmured something, the syllables hissing and twisting as she spoke. The pain in my ear lessened. She patted my cheek. “Can’t be having damaged property, now can we? Now, LOOK AT ME.”

My eyes snapped open of their own accord. Or more accurately, her accord. The woman’s face was perfect. Too perfect. Her hair was black and glossy, her lips full and red, her skin pale, like porcelain. But her eyes were dark, blacker than black, as black as her demon, and her pentagram pupils glowed with a sickly green light. “Now that’s better,” she crooned, patting my cheek again. Then she stood and I was forced to crane my head and watch her. Look at her. “Do you know who I am? ANSWER ME.”

“No.” I said, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

She smiled, something thin and dangerous with no humor. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a country witch after all. I am Marissa Fittes, founder of the Fittes clan, the most powerful witch family in London.”

“But that’s impossible,” I said, “to do that you would have to be . . .” my voice trailed off. Blood magic. Blood magic could be used to restore youth. I was already shaking with fear, but now terror was choking my breath as I started to realize what she was and how truly powerful she could be.

For her part, she smiled wider and clapped her hands as if I was a particularly clever dog who had just learned a new trick. ”Smart girl, Lucy. Smart, smart girl.”

_“Lucy . . .”_ Skull warned, voice edged with panic, _“Don’t listen to her. She’s madder than a rabid dog. You need to focus on escaping.”_

Thanks Skull, very helpful. I totally hadn’t figured that out myself.

She was smiling down at me, a particularly covetous smile that sent ice trailing down my spine. “As for you, Lucy, I know everything there is to know about you and your special little ability.”

“I’m sorry?” I choked out, a pit opening up beneath me threatening to swallow me whole.

“Oh yes,” She leaned down and grabbed my chin tilting my head this way and that as if examining my face for flaws. “I know all about your little ability to see the dead.” I could see myself in her dark eyes, wide eyed and terrified. A rabbit before a wolf. “And you, Lucy, are going to help me with a very important project of mine.”


	14. She Don't Care if They Think She's Mad ( if They Think She's Mad) as the Dead Began to Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up peeps: Slight language, Marissa Fittes being terrifying, ghostly shenanigans, and even more questions.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, everything frozen in that one moment of time. I think I would have stayed that way for forever if Skull hadn’t snapped me out of it. _“Deny it Lucy! Deny it! She won’t be able to tell if you’re lying or not!”_ With effort, I didn’t look at him, I just kept my eyes on the smug face of Marissa Fittes. 

“I don’t,” I choked out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” she purred, “I’ll tell you how this goes, darling child.” Her fingers on my chin gripped tighter, digging into the skin. I winced. “It either goes the fun way, the boring way, or the easy way.” She smiled. “If you choose the fun way, then I start cutting off useless bits of your body until you stop the act. If you choose the boring way, then I simply command you to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. If you choose the easy way, then you cut the crap and save yourself a lot of trouble in the long run. Now, NOD IF YOU UNDERSTAND.”

I nodded, eyes wide and mouth dry.

“Good girl,” she crooned, letting go of my chin and patting my cheek slightly. “I knew we would get along spectacularly. Now, as I was saying, you and your special ability are going to help me with a project of mine.”

“And if I say no?” Was that my voice? It was so shaky, so terrified, it didn’t sound like me. It didn’t sound like me at all.

 _“Chin up Lucy,”_ hissed Skull, _“We’ve got this. Just push her out the window or something.”_ He didn’t sound very confident.

Fittes laughed, pushing herself up and turning her back to me. “Dear girl,” she said as she strode towards the window, smiling as she examined the view. “You don’t get a choice. You will either help me willingly or unwillingly. COME HERE AND STAND BESIDE ME, AND DON’T TRY ANYTHING.”

Suddenly my limbs jerked up, and like a puppet on strings, I was dragged to her side. Her perfume clogged my nose, and the view of the city gave me vertigo. _“That’s it Lucy! Now, break free and push her through the window!”_   Easy for him to say, he wasn’t being controlled by a blood witch who also happened to summon crazy powerful demons in her spare time! I sucked in a shaking breath through my teeth and tried to think. What did I know about command spells? Not enough. Not enough to matter.

“Isn’t it a view,” said Fittes, smiling out into the night, “To think I have gone so far, and there is still more to conquer.”

“Oh gods,” I managed to moan, “this isn’t going to be a world domination speech, is it? I hoped that if I were going to be kidnapped by an insane person, it would be for a better reason than world domination.”

_“Nice, ten out of ten.”_

“SHUT UP, I did not give you permission to speak.” Her eyes flashed at me, and my mouth snapped shut. I stood there, quaking in my boots, until she was seemingly satisfied. “No, Lucy,” she said, smoothly, “This is not the world domination speech, although world domination isn’t far from what I want.” There was a longing in her voice that didn’t make sense, a need that was threaded under every word. Somehow that longing note in her voice, that need, was more terrifying than her anger.

 _“Oh fuck.”_ Skull said. _“She’s another Bickerstaff!”_ There was panic and memories under his words, and all I could remember was his story of a great man who was absolutely insane, willing to throw away everything to get what he wanted.

“You know, Lucy,” Fittes continued, heedless of Skull’s interruption, “We are a lot alike, you and I.” She trailed one finger down the glass pane, her eyes unfocused, viewing something that happened long ago. “Both weak and hated by our families. The supposed prophesied child, only to be tossed away when we did not meet expectations.” Her words were angry and bitter, but her voice still held that longing from earlier, and her eyes still had that yearning expression in them. She cocked her head to the side, smiling faintly, her dark hair casting shadows on her face. I tried to say something, but my lips were stuck together as if with superglue. “You see, Lucy, I saw ghosts in my youth too. At the corner of my vision, clawing for my attention, draining me of my power . . .” Her voice trailed off into a wistful sigh, but there was something else in that sigh. Something that sounded a lot like hatred.

Impossible. It couldn’t be true. She was insane, that was all, absolutely insane.

“Sometimes,” she said, placing her hand against the glass, turning to look at me with her burning eyes, “ a child is born with too much power. It most often happens in the case of a seventh son born from a seventh son or a seventh daughter born from a seventh daughter. There is only so much power the body can hold, so things go wrong. The mother miscarries. Most of the time, the excess power is used to keep the child and mother alive, and the child's power is decreased to a manageable level, only to build up again as it ages. Sometimes though,” and suddenly her voice turned vicious, “The child dies, and every drop of power in that child’s body is used to bring the child back from death. Typically, it’s not enough, and the child is just dead. Gone forever.” Then suddenly she was grabbing my hands, gripping them tightly, too tightly. “You are a miracle Lucy,” her voice was breathless, her eyes glittered, “A miracle as I am. Oh, I’d never think I’d meet another.” Her voice was gleeful, happy, like a child who had just opened her Christmas present and had discovered what she had always wanted.

I swallowed, terrified of what she might do next, might pull next.

She smiled at me, an honest, joyful smile full of delight, and all I could feel was the well of cold dread in my stomach. “As the child grows up, they are alive, but they have been touched by the Other Side. Blessed. But the child never gets their powers back, and do you know why, Lucy?” The bones in my hand were grating together now, and I shook my head. She squeezed my hands tighter, and I almost screamed. But I still could not make any noise. I wanted to run so badly, but I couldn’t. Her face was now a mask of fury, her sickly green pentagram pupils glowing with an unholy light. “The dead feed on it,” She hissed, reaching and grabbing the side of my head, fingernails digging into my skin. I sucked in a pained breath through my nose, wincing. “They drain it from us to keep themselves strong and vital, to prevent themselves from moving on.” She laughed, maniacally, “But there are ways of generating power quicker than they can swallow it up. YOU MAY SPEAK.” She let go and pushed me, hard, and I toppled backwards, stumbling over my own feet. Skull’s cold arms caught me before my head cracked open on the floor.

 _“Hang on Lucy, hang on,”_ he said, voice wispy and soft. Feeble. What could he do? He was as helpless as I was, too weak to throw her through the window. Besides, the window was most likely spelled to prevent such a thing from happening, so even that path was closed to us. We had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, with the biggest monster of them all standing in front of us. A monster who had the power to make me do whatever she wanted.

“Blood magic,” I breathed, then before I could stop myself, “You’re insane!”

“I read about it in a book I found. There is a certain formula you must follow. A man named Bickerstaff discovered the process long ago. I killed my family, the ones who would have cast me out as nothing, and gained their powers as my own. But there is a price, Lucy.” She gazed at me with veiled eyes, seemingly unconcerned about my outburst. “Once you do this you can never see them again, but they still feed on your power. All the time eating at the edges of it like filthy maggots!” She spat the last word with a viciousness that I couldn’t understand. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. As soon as possible.

I felt like throwing up.

 _“Fucking Bickerstaff,”_ Skull cursed into my ear, _“Even after death he’s messing up everything. Losing the ability to see the dead isn’t the only price. The process, Lucy, also takes their sanity. Not that they know that. She doesn’t want world domination, she wants her ability to see ghosts back. And now she can do that by using you.”_

Thanks, Skull. Lovely thought there.

“I know there’s one here in this room,” she breathed, staring at me, “I can feel it, I can feel the flow of my power being pulled from me. Where is it?” Her last words were a snarl.

“You sure that it isn’t your demon friend? He seems a likely target.” I shut my mouth the minute I said it. Skull was rubbing off on me, and this was no time for his caustic sarcasm.

“Please give me some credit, Lucy,” she said, calmly, but fury danced like flames in her eyes. “I know what I’m talking about.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Skull stopped me. _“Repeat after me, okay Lucy? Just repeat after me. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ghosts don’t exist, there are only such things as Exspiravit demons.”_

I took a deep breath to calm my shaking. It didn’t work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ghosts don’t exist. They are a legend humans created based off of tales of Exspiravit demons. Ghosts aren’t real.” I said it with all the conviction I could muster, and for a split second, the echoes rose in my mind. (Ghosts don’t exist. I see ghosts. I see things that aren’t there. Therefore I am insane.) (NO. They exist. They exist!)

_“In fact, I can prove you wrong.”_

“In fact,” I said, pushing myself up, “I can prove you wrong.”

_“It will be a simple test. I’ll light a candle with my magic. Any candle, your choice. If you’re right, then I won’t be able to do so, and you win. I’ll help you. If I can light the candle, then you’re wrong, and you will let me and my friends go.”_

“It will be a simple test,” I said, trying to fake confidence and cover my panic. “I’ll light a candle with my magic.” What was he playing at? “Any candle, your choice.” He knew as well as I did that I couldn’t light a candle without matches or a lighter! “If you’re right, then I won’t be able to do so, and you win. I’ll help you. If I can light the candle, then you’re wrong, and you will let me and my friends go.” And that was when it hit. If he managed to pull this off, Lockwood, George and I might be able to get out, but he would be trapped. He was sacrificing himself for me. I suddenly felt like crying. “You’ll know,” I said, forcing the words out, “that you have the wrong girl.”

Fittes smirked at me. “Well then, clever girl, you think you can beat me at my own game? I’ll take your odds.” She clicked her finger and a black wax candle flew off one of her shelves and into her hand.

 _“Lucy,”_ said Skull, voice too soft, _“she won’t let you go. But she will throw you into the dungeons, which is all you need. You know witches, paranoid creatures, they always leave a backdoor for themselves. Find it and get out. Do you understand me, Lucy? Find the back door and get the hell out of dodge.”_ He was standing by Fitz’s desk now, and he looked more like a boy than a ghost. As if he was summoning every bit of strength he had for one last hurrah. He met my eyes, and something flickered in his, beneath the illusion of the boy. He smiled, and it was not his vicious grin, it was something soft and sad. _“This is not goodbye.”_ He didn’t believe it.

And neither did I.

Fittes set the candle on the desk, and it made a soft click. She stepped back, a smile on her red lips. “Well, Lucy, prove me wrong, if you can.” The scent of roses and old blood was thick in the air.

I raised two fingers, pointing at the candle. The flame incantation was the only one I knew, it had been beaten into me when I was first being trained, before my family gave up on me. I could recite it in my sleep. I looked at Skull, and he looked at me. 

_“Now.”_

“Clara flamma, clara flamma. Levis flammae, flamma lucem. Veni flammae, flamma venit. Urere flamma. Urere flamma!”

Skull bent over slightly and blew, the air twisting around his breath, roiling, roaring. The wick caught fire, the flame a burning, ghostly blue, dancing there, impossible. It shouldn’t have existed. How was that possible? _“I can’t believe that worked,”_ Skull groaned, panting, his hands on his knees. _“I still have the old touch.”_ He sounded smug.

I watched Fittes, waiting for the reaction I knew was to come. She was staring at the flame, eyes wide and blank, her face so furious I was ready to take my chances with Eziekiel. Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine. The irises were as dark as Eziekiel’s body of nothingness, her pupils glowed their eerie green.  Her voice was cold and calm as arctic ice, barely a whisper. “STOP BREATHING.”

I stopped breathing.

Black clawed the edges of my vision.

My chest hurt.

I collapsed, fingers clawing at my throat.

Someone was calling my name. 

People were conversing.

Arguing.

I couldn’t make out the words.

Was this what it was like to die?

“START BREATHING.”

And suddenly I was sucking in air with the desperation of a drowning person. The air tasted sweet, even with Fittes’ perfume clogging it. Tears leaked from my eyes, and I curled up on my side. I could feel Skull’s cold hands on my shoulders, rubbing my back. They felt indistinct, barely there. I remembered him breathing fire. How was that possible? How?

“I don’t know how she did it,” came Fittes' voice, as if from far away. “But I will figure it out. Throw here in the dungeon with her friends. Either she will rot there forever, or I will find a use for her. Even if it is only as a sacrifice.”

Something grabbed my arms and dragged me out of the room. My eyes flickered open, and I saw Skull there, standing, watching me softly. Sadly. How? I think he saw the question in my eyes. He tilted his head and pulled the collar of his shirt down. There was something there, but he was so faint now, I could barely make him out. But I didn’t need to see things around his neck clearly. I knew that shape, I’d seen it before. He met my eyes, smiled, and said. _“Managed to keep that ace up my sleeve, didn’t I? Tell the dragon I one upped him in the end.”_ And then he was gone, as if he had never existed in the first place.

I felt like screaming.

I felt like sobbing.

But mostly, I felt numb. 

Because I’d seen that shape before.

I’d seen it around George’s neck.

 


	15. Cause Nobody Wants to be Alone / Even if They are Only Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric is from Nobody Wants to Be Alone but Christian Reindl feat. Atrel

Dead. Skull was dead.

I didn’t struggle as Ezekiel dragged my body through the halls, I wasn’t sure I could. I was numb, mind and body frozen. Skull was dead. He was dead. Dead. He had died to save my life. To give me a chance at life. A chance to escape. It didn’t compute, I didn’t want to accept it. He couldn’t be dead. Not Skull. Not Skull who survived an explosion. Not Skull who had survived the years buried in the dirt, slowly fading and fading away to nothing. Skull wouldn’t die, he wouldn’t just disappear from my life. He wouldn’t. He enjoyed messing with me too much for that. 

And suddenly the numbness that clung to my mind and froze my body burned away into a fury that made it hard to breathe. Fury at Ezekiel for taking us away, for being so powerful. Fury at Fittes for her insane delusions, for dragging us into this mess of her desires, for knowing so much about what I could do. For being what she was. For threatening my friends. For driving Skull to do what he did. I was even furious at Skull, for not telling me such a momentous secret, that he wasn’t just a ghost, but the ghost of a dragon. 

Because it all made sense now, his dislike for George, the fact that he had seen a dragon’s hoard, the glass around his neck, the flames. He was a dragon, he had been a dragon. And he had never told me, never even hinted at the fact. And that pissed me off. And that anger was better than the numbness that had been grasping my soul. It felt safer, because I could do something with it.

I was going to get out of here with Lockwood and George, I was going to bring down a host of werewolves, demons, witches, whatever I could summon down upon Marissa fucking Fittes, and I was going to make sure that she and Ezekiel died a bloody, painful death. And then I was going to take Skull’s skull and throw it across the room as hard as possible. And then I was going to find a way to bring him back. He had some explaining to do.

But first I had to get out of here.

Which was going to be easier said than done.

There was the sound of a door opening, and I realized that I had spent the whole time being dragged to my cell gathering my resolve. Ezekiel tossed me in, and I went flying, only to impact with something soft. The soft thing gave off a “Oomph” as it caught me. Lockwood. Good old Lockwood. I rolled off him and pushed myself halfway up, limbs shaking, to glare furiously at the black cutout shape in the rectangle of light that streamed into the cell.

Ezekiel tilted his head, a slash of gold crawling across his face to make a smile.  **“Little witch girl,”** he said, and the restrained violence in his voice made me shudder,  **“I can’t wait for when Marissa plays with you. She thinks of the most ingenious ways of inflicting pain.”** There was a delightful wistfulness in his voice, a trace of worshiping delight. He had been in this world so long that he had started worshiping the witch who had summoned him. He was as insane as she was.

“Fuck off!” I growled, and he laughed and disappeared, the door swinging shut behind him. I collapsed on the cold stone, arms unable to hold my weight. I was still weak from what Fittes had done with me, to me. Stealing my breath, stopping me from breathing. Just how powerful was she? How could we take her down? What hope did we have?

There was the sound of a bolt clicking into place. In the darkness, it was ominous. The sound of a funeral bell. Our funeral bell.

Lockwood pushed himself up and hauled me up into a sitting position. His hands were warm on my shoulders. “Lucy are you okay?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy, pained. His composure still held though, and I could barely hear the fear in his voice. But it was still there.

I shook my head, “No, I’m not. She’s crazy, Lockwood, absolutely crazy.” I closed my eyes and tried to keep the tears from spilling. “Skull’s dead. He’s dead.” My voice broke and the dam burst, tears flowing down my cheeks as I collapsed into heavy sobs. Dead. Skull was dead. He was dead. My first friend, the first person who had ever truly cared about me. Dead. He had sacrificed his life for the barest chance that I could find a way out. He had sacrificed his life for a possibility. A possibility! It was such a stupid thing to die for!

I sobbed harder.

Lockwood pulled me into a hug, rubbing my back as I wept into his shoulder. He didn’t speak, just hummed a tune in my ear as I cried. Finally, I pulled back, hiccuping and drying my eyes on my fists. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft, “I know what he meant to you.” He rubbed my shoulders, giving me time to collect myself.

“Thanks,” I whispered finally, and for a second I could have sworn I heard an echo of my sobs. “Is George okay?”

Lockwood shook his head, the movement barely perceptible in the gloom. “No, he's healing, but too slowly, and he hasn’t awakened.” He stopped for a second, then said, voice laced with anger, “He’s only healing because they don’t want him dead, at least not yet.”

I nodded. It made sense, using a dragon as a sacrifice would generate a lot of power. We would all make powerful sacrifices. I swallowed and pushed the thought out of my head.We wouldn’t become sacrifices, we would escape. Skull had died to give us this chance, I was not going to waste it. “Next question, what is around your neck?” 

Lockwood reached up and touched his neck. “A band of silver, it doesn’t hurt right now. I think I was pumped with some type of drug, because currently I’m one hundred percent human.” He grinned at me, white teeth flashing, then his grin disappeared. “The band is there so they’ll know when the drug wears off.”

“How will they know?”

“Because I won’t be able to stop screaming.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then another. “We need to get that off you, and we need to get George’s collar off him, and then we need to get out of here. As soon as possible.” Another sob, this time definitely there. I wasn’t imagining it. Which meant only one thing. Suddenly a plan started to blossom in my mind. It was stupid, risky, but it could work. It was the only thing that might work.

“Lucy,” said Lockwood, “That’s a great plan and all, but I have one question. How?”

“It used to be common practice for witches to put secret passageways in dungeons in case an opposing clan attacked and detained them. A back door, you could say. Fittes is a witch, an old one, and I bet she has a tunnel in here somewhere. We just have to find it and use it to get out of here.”

He was catching on. “And you need the collars off so we don’t become liabilities. Good plan. Another problem. It’s too dark in here, and you can bet any secret passage is going to be difficult to find. How are we going to find it?”

“The same way we’re going to get those collars off of you. With a little help.”

“From who?” Lockwood was reasonably skeptical. There was nobody else in the cell, nobody living, anyway.

I sighed, scooting back so I could place both hands on the floor, eyes scanning every corner of the room for what I knew was there. “You won’t see them, and you won’t hear them either. You’ll just have to believe me, and believe what is happening.” I met Lockwood’s eyes and said, “I'm sorry for lying. It was by omission, but it was lying anyway. I’ll explain everything later, but I need you to trust me. Do you trust me Lockwood?” The words were stuck in my throat, hard to get out. But I had to say them. 

“Lucy, I don’t know what you’re hiding or what you’ve been lying about, but I trust there was a reason. You’re part of my pack,” he grabbed my hand and squeezed, “and pack takes care of pack. I trust you.”

I almost broke down sobbing again. I’d found a family, a weird one consisting of a ghost, a werewolf, and a dragon, but a family nonetheless. A pack. A place where I belonged, a place where people cared about me and I cared about them. It was something I’d never thought I would have. “Thank you,” I whispered, then I shut my eyes and listened. Nothing, for the longest time nothing. Then it happened, a single broken sob, faint and echoing and not of this world. Bingo. I took a deep breath, then said. “I hear you.”

The sob broke off.

I opened my eyes slowly. “I hear you,” I murmured again, slowly scanning the room. Nothing visible, not yet at least. “You’re not alone any more. I’m here, and I can hear you.”

There was the sound of shaky, raspy breathing. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

What had Fittes said? That we were somehow powering the dead? It was the only thing in her crazy rant that made any shred of sense. It made more sense than attention powering them. I closed my eyes again, focused on the breathing. Just breathing and the thing causing it. “I hear you.”

_ “Lies.” _ The word was a whisper against my ear, a chill touch against my neck. The voice of something beyond the grave. 

“I hear you,” I said again. “I hear you. I hear you.” Each time I said it, I said it with more force, trying to make something happen, anything happen. “I hear you.”

There was a pause, then the voice again.  _ “Lies.”  _ Practically a growl, and definitely stronger. I was doing something, strengthening him somehow. I couldn’t feel it though, couldn’t feel a pull or a push or whatever I was supposed to be feeling. I wasn’t even sure it mattered. I pushed myself up, looking around wildly. 

“I hear you.”

_ “You lie!”  _ It was a frustrated yell, fury of fury and fear and the faintest trace of hope. It echoed off every stone, rebounded off every wall.

I stumbled, spun around, and stared at the faintly glowing figure hunched close to the door, obscured slightly by the light spilling from the crack under the door. He was a raggedy figure with stringy hair and ripped clothing, practically nothing but skin and bones, staring at me with wild amber eyes. “I see you,” I breathed.

_ “Liar.”  _ He growled, but there was doubt in his voice now.

I took a step forward, holding out one hand, palm up, as if to a skittish animal. Lockwood grabbed my shoulder, “Lucy!” I shook him off and stepped forwards again, moving so I could crouch in front of the glowing figure.

“I see you. I hear you.”

_ “You lie. Nobody sees me, nobody hears me. I am dead!” _

“I know,” I said, swallowing, meeting his eyes with my own. “I know.”

He started to uncurl, eyes shining with something like hope.  _ “You see me?”  _ His voice was full of disbelief.

“I see you.” 

_ “How?”  _ He leaned towards me, eyes wide.

“Does it matter? What’s your name?”

_ “Niel Clarke.”  _ He reached out a shaking hand as if to touch me to make sure that I was real.

“Well, Niel Clarke,” I gave him a shaky smile, held his hand in my own. His hand was cold, colder than the air in the room, but it was solid, and now that I was paying attention, I could tell there was a slight pull. A tug at the point of contact, and his details became sharper, more focused, more real. “My name is Lucy Carlyle, and as you can see, my friends and I are in need of your help.”


	16. Tell My Secrets to the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric is from Battle Cry by Beth Crowly

“Lucy?” Lockwood’s voice was unsure and slightly shaky. His hand reached out to grasp my shoulder, and I could feel it trembling slightly. My stomach plummeted. How would he take this? How could he take this? Everything I was about to say would go against everything he had ever been taught. “Who are you talking to?”

_ “He doesn’t see me,”  _ Clarke said, his voice a despairing sigh. 

Clarke’s ghostly hand was still in mine, and I focused on that slight pull, trying to push more energy into it. I couldn’t tell if it was working or not. I pushed myself up, dragging him with me. He didn’t resist, Skull would have, just to spite me. I swallowed, forced that thought away. “No, I’m afraid he can’t.” I said with false cheer as I tried to plaster a smile onto my face. It didn’t work. “This, Lockwood, is Niel Clarke. He’s a ghost, and he’s going to help us get out of here.”

For a second there was absolute silence, but then Lockwood’s exterior of calm cracked and he started to laugh. Loudly. Hysterically. I just waited him out, focused on the pull between me and Clarke. The flow of energy, the flow of my magic if Fittes was to be believed. He looked slightly brighter now, more solid. It was working, it had to be working. Finally, Lockwood’s chuckles subsided into hiccuping sobs. “Lucy, is now really the time to be joking?” He looked at me, dark eyes glinting in the light. “Lucy?” I slowly shook my head and his face paled. “Oh my god you’re not joking, are you?” 

Clarke looked at him, eyes flashing.  _ “He’s reacting fairly well,”  _ his voice was stronger too, not as broken and scared.  _ “This pup has the makings of a fine alpha.” _

“Lucy?” Lockwood’s voice was strained, begging. But at least he wasn’t accusing me of being a liar, or of being insane. Not yet, at least.

“I know you won’t believe me,” I said softly. “I mean, why would you? Ghosts are just fiction, tales for humans and nothing more, but . . . they’re real. Skull was one.” My voice broke, and I sucked in a deep breath before continuing.  “And so is Clarke here. And I can prove it too. Clarke, if you could please remove Lockwood's collar?”

_ “I can’t touch that! It’s silver!”  _ Horror is his voice, suddenly sharp and high and scarred. 

“And you’re dead.” I said, tightening my grip on his hand. The pull was stronger now, and I fed more into it. For a moment, I felt weak, but I forced the sensation away. This was no time to faint. “It won’t hurt you.”

_ “Are you sure?” _

No. “Yes.” My voice was calm, certain, nothing in it would betray the lie. Skull would have been proud.

For a long time both Lockwood and Clarke stared at me, both with fearful uncertainty. Then Clarke moved, letting go of my hand and drifting towards Lockwood. Lockwood’s nostrils flared, and he met my eyes, uncertain, doubtful. I smiled and nodded, stepping forwards and setting one hand on Clarke’s back, focusing on the pull. Surprisingly, Lockwood didn’t jerk away. Clarke’s fingers brushed the collar and Lockwood winced, hissing in pain. “Lucy,” he breathed, and he looked scared, eyes wide and wild. “Something cold just touched me.”

“That’s just Clarke,” I said, watching as Clarke wormed his fingers between Lockwood’s skin and the silver. Lockwood whimpered and closed his eyes, his breath coming out in icy crystals. Clarke’s face tightened in concentration and he yanked hard on Lockwood’s collar. The metal screeched and both Lockwood and I stumbled as the collar was torn from his neck. It clattered against the floor, and I stared at it in shock. I hadn’t expected that to work, hadn’t even dared to hope. “Let's hope the demon didn’t hear that.” I whispered, but even that sounded too loud in the sudden silence.

_ “I did it,”  _ Clarke breathed, staring at his hands in surprise.  _ “I actually did it!” _ His voice was a hoarse whisper, and I wondered what he was feeling right now. The sudden shift from being able to do nothing to being able to do something. What did it feel like? I thought some part of me already knew. Previously, I had believed the ability to see ghosts was practically worthless, but now I knew I could strengthen them. What else could I do? Where did it stop?

Lockwood prevented my mind from spiraling down a path I wasn’t ready to go down. He touched his throat with his fingertips. “Bloody hell,” he swore, his voice rough, “It’s real. It really is real.”

I left him to wallow in surprise and looked at Clarke. “One down, two to go. Do you think you can manage two more things?” Numbly, Clarke nodded. “Our dragon friend has a collar as well, it’s made of glass and should be significantly easier to break. Can you do that for me?” Once again, he nodded. “After you do that, I need you to find us a way out of here. There should be a secret passageway somewhere, I need you to find that for us. Please.” For a second the world seemed to darken, and I shut my eyes, taking a few deep breaths, trying to force the feeling away.

I opened them again to see Clarke looking at me,  _ “I can do that.”  _ He drifted over to George’s side, reaching out to prod at the glass. A few seconds later, it shattered.

I smiled in Lockwood’s direction. He was still blank faced, staring at thin air as if it had all the answers in the world. I wondered if he was cracking on the inside, like I had. “See?” I said, “Easy peasy, we’ll be out of here in no time.” And then I passed out.

 

. . .

 

I woke to somebody shaking me awake, calling my name anxiously. “Lucy! Lucy!” My eyes snapped open to see Lockwood above me, frantically searching my face, his own a mask of worry. His eyes were a shade lighter now, more amber then brown. The drug must have been wearing off. “Oh thank goodness, you’re okay!” He jerked me into a hug, his nose buried in my neck, fingers digging into the back of my shirt.

I complied, my chin resting on his shoulder. Slowly,I reached up and touched my upper lip. My fingers came away sticky with blood. Bleeding. My nose had been bleeding. What had happened? “George?” I croaked.

Lockwood pulled back, staring at me, “Healing now that the glass has been broken, but he still hasn’t woken up yet. What happened? You’re as white as a sheet.”

Something crouched beside us, glowing faintly, cold emanating from it. For a second my heart leapt, thinking it was Skull, but no, it was Clarke.  _ “Energy drain, I think. I’m feeding off you, aren’t I? And I pulled too much to break the collars and you passed out.” _

I licked my lips, “Energy drain. Ghosts, they can manipulate physical things, but it takes energy. I was supplying Clarke’s.” Had Skull known? How could I even ask that, of course he had known. He’d probably been waiting for me to figure it out by myself while laughing about how stupid I was. I was going to take his skull and throw it out a window. See who’d be laughing then.

It wouldn’t be him.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to push the well of grief down. I opened my eyes when I thought I could do so without crying. Lockwood was scowling faintly, his eyes glittering. “Delightful.” He scooped me up and stood, walking over to sit beside George and setting me beside him. “Ghosts are real, and they're useless without a human battery. George will get a kick out of this when he wakes up.”

“Your strength is returning,” I mumbled, I didn’t feel like I could muster anything louder than that. I leaned back against the stone and let the cold eat away at me, I felt kind of like it. Cold and stiff, lifeless.

“Yeah,” Lockwood muttered, rubbing his neck. “I think you and Clarke were right in time.” He pulled his collar down and tilted his head. A slight red mark wrapped around his neck, vivid against his pale skin. “Thank you, both of you, I mean. I was not looking forward to when that drug wore off completely.”

_ “I remember that drug,”  _ whispered Clarke, his voice filled with loathing, and I tilted my head to look at him. He was leaning against a wall, cold light spilling from his form. I couldn’t feel the drain of energy, but I knew it had to be there. He met my eyes,  _ “I found your secret passageway.” _

“Wonderful,” I croaked out. 

_ “I followed it out too, as far as I could at least.”  _ He hesitated, then spoke again, his voice despairing. Once again the prisoner without a way out, instead of a man who’d discovered that he still had some semblance of power.  _ “I’m stuck in this pit forever, aren’t I?” _

“You can always choose to move on.” I said.

This time when Clarke spoke, it was fierce and vicious.  _ “Not until Fittes is dead.” _

And something clicked, another part of the puzzle slipped into place. I had a plan. Or part of a plan. Maybe. “Clarke found us a way out.”

“Good,” said Lockwood, his voice hard. There was something in it that made me think he had a plan to. “Once we get out of here, I’m going to Jessica and telling her everything. We’re going to call the Hunt and burn this place down.”

“The Hunt?”

“It’s when the packs get together to take down something dangerous.”

“They won’t be enough.” I breathed out. Getting the packs together would take time, time that Fittes would use to prepare. A prepared blood witch was a blood witch who would win, especially since every death would make her stronger.

“I know, I’m going to send George to Holly and see if he can get her to get us some witches on our side. We’ll have Kipps on our side too, between him, the witches, and the Hunt, we should be able to take Fittes down. But the demon,” he paused, then sighed deeply, “The demon will be a problem.”

I didn’t think it would be enough, but I didn’t have a better idea, not really. Mine was pretty stupid, and would honestly work better with time to prepare. “Normally demons are tied to their summoners, but I don’t think that’s how it is with Fittes and Ezekiel. What is strong enough to kill a demon?”

“One as powerful as this one? A fully matured dragon, maybe, if it’s really old. An angel, or another demon. But whatever does it will have to be very powerful.”

I thought of the girl at the Thames, the one in the straw hat and horrible blue puffer jacket. Would she be powerful enough? I didn’t know, but I could ask. And I could try something out, maybe it would work. Another piece of the puzzle slotted itself into place. “Leave the demon to me.”

“Lucy, you can’t-” Lockwood jerked up, twisted to stare at me. His eyes were definitely lighter now, almost amber. 

“I can’t, but I know somebody who can.” Hopefully.

_ “I will do what I can,”  _ Clarke murmured.

“And,” I said cheerfully, “We have at least one ghost on our side! They won’t know what hit them!”

“Ghost?” The word was a cracked whisper, and suddenly both Lockwood and I were twisting. Lockwood bent over George, checking his pulse and patting him down. My lethargy was gone, and I scrambled up to kneel at George’s other side. “I could have sworn somebody said ghost.”

“You’re awake!” I breathed, sharp and surprised. “And healed!”

“Mostly,” he groaned, trying to push himself up and failing as Lockwood held him down. “What happened?”

“You got your butt kicked by a demon and we all got kidnapped. Lucy is wanted by a freaking blood witch who keeps said demon as a pet, and apparently ghosts are real.” Lockwood said it all with a straight face too. When he put it like that, I almost laughed. The whole situation felt horribly ridiculous, but that might have been hysteria. It was probably hysteria.

George’s blue eyes fluttered shut. “I’m dreaming.”

“Unfortunately not,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “And we don’t have time to explain everything now. Can you stand?”

“I just woke up.” George’s voice was as dry as dust, and I could have wept to hear it.

“I’ll help him.” Lockwood said.

I smiled at him, and stood up, turning to Clarke. “Where’s the passage?”

“Who is she talking to?”

“Ghost.” 

_ “This wall,”  _ he said, floating over and placing one hand on the stone.  _ “I do not know where the mechanism is, but it could be magical in nature.” _

I shook my head, “No, that could be sensed.” I started running my hands over the stone, looking for a lever or a button or a loose rock or something. “We’ll be back.”

Behind me, I could hear Lockwood helping George up, both of them whispering furiously. Clarke was watching them, then he turned his gaze on me.  _ “I know.”  _ He would get his revenge, I would make sure of it.

“Guys,” I called softly, “The passageway is here behind this wall. We need to find the mechanism that operates it.”

“And you know this how?” George's normal monotone voice had a trace of hysteria in it. It was vastly different from the way he normally spoke, and I winced. Of the two of them, George was more likely to split down the middle.

But what could I say?

“Ghost told me.”

“I’m dreaming. Or hallucinating. This can’t possibly be real. Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Look,” I breathed, “Fittes apparently has a book on the subject. Once we come back to take her out, you can have it and read it. Hell, once we get this whole nightmare done with, you are welcome to ask me all kinds of questions. Until then, please don’t accuse me of insanity until we get out of here.” A stone clicked, and I jerked back as a section of the wall swung open to reveal a dark hallway. “Huh, that was easier than expected.”

“Wonderful,” Lockwood breathed, his voice pained. “Absolutely wonderful. At least we have a little bit of luck. Now let’s leave before somebody comes to check up on us.” He walked into the darkness, helping George along, and I moved to follow him, but something stopped me. A cold hand on my shoulder.

_ “She will die?” _

I thought of Skull and my lips tightened. “Yes.” Clarke let go, and I followed my pack into the darkness, listening as the stone ground to a shut behind me. 


End file.
